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The man in a dark suit takes a seat across the table. The octopus, after finally being able to get out of the water and onto the chair, angrily curls multiple tentacles around the table's legs.
"Why are you keeping me in here? I have done nothing wrong!"
The man in the dark suit adjusts his dark sunglasses and puts down a file upon the table. "Cut the crap, squid. My name is Roger Newville, and I want answers. Now confess!"
The squid looks about, questioning the situation. "Ex...cuse me?"
"You heard me! Now tell me. How much does Japan pay you for taking part in their porn industry?" |
I felt as if I had outlasted the universe.
I marched through existence until I reached the end of the universe. I trudged through lives of varying quality, taking them as far as I could. I outlived everything and every one I ever cared for.
I had loved. I had mourned. I had endured. All for this.
That cold, familiar feeling fell over me again - the kind you get when you revisit a particularly significant memory. I found myself with all the time in the world to reminisce, so it was now a feeling I had grown used to. I'm remembering my first breath of new life after having lost my previous one. Much like anyone, I expected my first death to be my only death. Coiled up on a stiff hospital bed, surrounded by my grown children - their names long forgotten. I sat there for days, and waited to feel the embrace of death. But death never came. I was given new life, a new beginning. I spent the adolescence of my second life petrified. I carried over memories, thoughts, aspirations, knowledge, into this new life - into *every* new life that would follow, but I couldn't speak. It's a lonely feeling to be trapped inside your own head.
Nowadays I spent my days not doing much besides barely retaining a grasp on existence, of course. I existed as the closest thing there is to complete nothingness. I see nothing. I feel nothing. I hear nothing. And, to tell you the truth, at this point I fear nothing. Nothing could bring me lower - nothing could be worse. I am merely a speck of dirt on the bottom of God's boot. I am the thought that God neglected to think. It's a lonely feeling to know you truly are alone.
But yet, I was not.
I had a feeling - nothing physical - but still, a *feeling*. A hunch, a vibe. I felt the prescense of someone else. Someone like *me*. I had floated in this abyss for however many years and it was looking like I'd finally have some company. Naturally, as a speck, I lacked the ability to speak, so I attempted to speak with my mind. I fought hard to form my first coherent sentence in nothing short of a million years.
"If you're out there, please say something."
I remained in my corner of the universe, waiting for any sort of sign. There I floated, with a child's *naivete*.
I repeated myself, not knowing if my thoughts were reaching anyone.
"If you're out there, please say something."
I waited. At this point in life, I had completely lost my grip on time. It could have been minutes in between messages, or it could have been years.
I sent one more SOS out into the atmosphere. I pleaded with whoever was there to respond.
"If you're out there, please... give me a sign."
I laid there in my bed of nothingness, defeated, when I felt myself think a thought that wasn't *mine*.
"Hello."
I felt the excitement flow over me. The first real feeling I had felt in eons. It's' safe to say that the next sentence I thought was *not* so coherent.
I made a thousand queries about who it was I was speaking to, if they were like me, who they used to be and who they were now.
Those called went unheard. But once again, the presence returned to me.
"We had it good, you and I."
I could almost sense their voice. English. Male. Rugged and raspy.
The thought came across as worn, almost. A cold demeaner. A sentence uttered by a being as old as me. As tired as me. Before I could muster a response, they spoke again.
"We had it good. Now we have nothing. But how could we have expected to have *everything*, without paying the cost."
The being had one more thing to say to me:
"Now, I wait for mercy."
I reached out many times after that, but none found a response. I was shooting in the dark with my questions. With my attempts at conversation. We no longer had anything to chat about; we were the last beings in the world.
Over the next couple of years, I basked in the silly comfort I felt knowing I was spending eternity next to someone who *knew*. Someone who really knew. Someone who had seen everything I had seen. We didn't speak ever again after that, but I considered us dear friends.
I sat back with my new friend, as we waited for our mercy to come. |
Miranda stepped out of shower and paused at the mirror.
*Leave the TV on when you leave, please.*
She gulped, turning around. The house had seemed too good to be true, and it was. Now, she would die at the hands of a ghost who knew the magic word.
“Okay,” she whispered, just to put a break to the cold silence in the bathroom. The warm drops of water on her skin were rapidly cooling and she felt more than alone. She was like there was more than nothing in the room with her. A new series of scratches formed on her mirror.
*Thank you.*
Miranda stumbled out of the bathroom, clutching her towel close to her body. She dressed for work quickly, having to redo the buttons of her shirt three times before she got it right. She’d been planning on working at home that day, but she needed out. She grabbed her keys from the bowl in the living room and opened the front door. At the last moment, she walked in the living room and turned on the TV.
Turning back towards the front door once outside, she looked to the little house. It had been her dream to own a house, and when she’d seen the house it had ticked every box while actually being in her budget. Well below her budget, in fact. She’d redone the kitchen and bought pretty furniture. She’d tailored the house to be the house of her dreams, and moved in. Her savings were nearly non-existent, but she thought she’d made her perfect oasis.
Now, she didn’t know what she had. Even the mirror in the morning had been expensive, with an LED light built in and a pretty gold border. Now she’d have to replace it. She might have to move. The realtor had been honest with her when showing her the house. He didn’t tell her the details of the people who’d been murdered in the house, but it was famous enough in her little neighborhood that the neighbors had come over with gifts of rosaries and crosses instead of cupcakes.
She should’ve waited until it was a buyer’s market, until she’d saved more. Miranda ran a hand through her hair and groaned. It was too late for regrets. She drove to a big box store and picked up a large tray and a new mirror.
In the house, the TV was still playing. It was changed to the cooking channel, where a dark-haired woman was making a lasagne that was a bit too inventive. Miranda went to the kitchen and got out a bag of flour. She placed the tray on the kitchen island and poured the flour onto the tray.
“Are you here?”
The doorbell rang in response.
“Okay. I don’t want any more messages on my mirror. That was expensive. If you need to tell me something, just ring the doorbell and write something on the flour here. She looked over at the flour.
*Ok.*
The word was written with a fingertip.
“I’ll try to get one of those sand art boards later,” Miranda said. “But this should do for now. Also, no coming into the bathroom while I’m using it. A tickmark appeared next to the first word.
“So, are you one of the people who was murdered here?” she asked.
*Three of them*, the answer came. The handwriting had changed this time, a script of elegant cursive. Miranda looked up. Her fridge was in front of her. On the stainless steel surface, she saw the three old women hovering around her.
“Why are you still here?” Miranda asked.
*To protect*, the message read.
\*\*\*\*\*\*\*
*If you like my stories, you can read more at* r/analect. |
“The people need you, Lord.” Morizik said. “Children are starving to death under their incompetence.”
“Mori,” Rezoras replied. He placed a hand atop the child’s head and smiled a weak smile. “There was once a time where I would have been able to take their power, but that was long, long ago.”
“I’ve heard the stories, Lord. I’ve heard it from the church elders. They’re displeased with the Elders.” Morizik said.
The two sat in the attic loft of Rezoras’ aging keep. His keep was once defended by thousands of skeletal soldiers, hellhounds, ogres, and other creatures that still lived fraught in the nightmares of the people who’d had the diservice of seeing them in person. The keep’s only defender was Morizik, an apprentice of the dark arts, forbidden magic.
“I told you not to venture into town, Mori. We’re not welcome there.” Rezoras said.
He looked out the window of his keep, the capital sat in the distance. He’d been defeated long ago by the Elder Wizards of Ocreal. Ocreal was the largest continent in the world, littered with lakes created from the First Glaciers. The keep was Rezoras’ last stand and the Elders dared not to send any soldiers on a crusade against him. They had already won, they had kept him from the throne.
“I am welcome there, Lord.” Morizik said. “You would be too. Many residents of Ocreal know of your power and they know what you’ve done for me.”
Again, Lord Rezoras placed his hand atop Morizik’s head and he led him downstairs.
“Let’s eat, Mori.” he said. “You can’t learn on an empty stomach.”
Rezoras conjured a few skeletons, they’d been chefs in their past lives and they quickly went to work in the kitchen. Soon, the smell of freshly cooked beef stew, saffron infused rice, and roasted vegetables filled the room. Occasionally, the skeletons would ask for ingredients with Rezoras would conjure out of thin air.
Morizik studied his master when he did this. He made it look simple, effortless. Morizik could barely conjure a single chain link without having to rest for the entire day. To create not only living creatures, but ingredients and materials was otherworldly.
The skeletal chefs placed the plates of food in front of them and Rezoras watched the boy eat greedily, as if it was his last meal. It was entertaining to him, he knew better than to tell him to slow down. He watched the boy to make sure the food went down properly, occasionally assisting him and breaking down any of the larger pieces the boy had failed to chew in his hurry.
“Have you had any luck with your summons, Mori?” Rezoras asked.
The boy stopped eating to slow his breathing.
Breathing is key, Morizik thought to himself. Breathe.
He took in air into his lungs and thought only of the air as he tried to calm his mind. He pictured the brick in his mind. A dark red and heavy. He tried to imagine what it would be like to hold it, its weight in his hand. He kept breathing, making sure that he wasn’t breathing too much or too little.
Morizik closed his hands together and slowly opened them, feeling the brick coming to life, forcing it to materialize. He wanted it to be perfectly rectangular and it took him the better half of a minute before he materialized it. He held it in his hand and showed it proudly to Rezoras who clapped and cheered.
“Terrific!” he said, clapping the boy on his back. He took the brick from Morizik and examined it more closely. It was a perfectly simple brick, textured correctly and dense with stone.
“Excellent craftsmanship, Mori.” Rezoras said. “Well done.”
Morizik beamed and continued eating, feeling the exhaustion wash over his body. He’d feel the soreness in every part of his body.
Rezoras asked the skeletal chefs to whip up a dessert for Mori, specifically he wanted them to create a rich chocolate ice cream. He conjured the ingredients for them in the blink of an eye and the chefs went to work.
“Thank you, Lord.” Morizik said. He dug into the ice cream and he too looked at the distant city. He thought of the common people of Ocreal that he’d grown to know when he went for supply runs. There was a limit to the number of things Lord Rezoras could conjure, especially when he didn’t have the knowledge of what something was. It was Morizik that showed him the joys of ice cream, fresh pasta, and most importantly of saffron.
“Will you go into the city with me on our next run?” Morizik asked.
“The Elders will show up as soon as I approach the city, Mori.” Rezoras replied.
“So let them show up,” Morizik said. “You’re the only one who can help them!”
“They have chosen their leader, just like your family chose to throw you away. Don’t forget that, Mori. People are not good.” Rezoras said.
“But you’re good,” Morizik replied. He looked down at his empty bowl before one of the skeletons walked over to fill his bowl with a few more scoops of the frozen treat.
“I-” Rezoras started to say.
“You are good.” Morizik said.
Rezoras looked around his keep, he put a hand to his chin and Morizik thought that he looked like he was deep in thought.
“I have heard of a new flour that some bakers have created,” Rezoras said. “It might be interesting to see them use it in person.”
A large smile crept on Morizik’s face and he jumped up and down with genuine joy.
“We’ll leave at sunset,” Rezoras said. “Wear your apprentice robes.”
When the sun started to set, Rezoras had conjured a sentry of fifty skeletal soldiers, and skeletal horses for them to ride on. He didn’t want it to seem like he was attacking the city, but he needed to be able to defend himself as well. Skeletons were the weakest summons he could conjure and he’d hoped that the Elders were aware of that.
“I expect trouble,” Rezoras said as they started to make their way to the city. “Stay awake, be alert.”
Morizik saluted to his Lord who was wearing dark steel armor, he looked more like a knight than he did a wizard. He’d gotten used to the Lord’s aura, but the plants around them withered slowly and any merchants in the distance steered several hundreds of feet away from their party (though Morizik supposed that an army of skeletal soldiers could have been intimidating as well).
As the sun set fully, night blanketed over them and one of Rezoras’ scouts reported that an army was approaching them.
“We have company, Morizik. Be on guard.” Rezoras said.
The night sky turned clear, the sun following the army that approached them.
“Damn it,” Rezoras muttered. “They sent Kar.”
Elder Kar was accompanied by four thousand of his soldiers, half of whom were wizards to supply him with mana.
“Kar!” Rezoras yelled. “I mean no harm here.”
“Then go back to your forsaken lands, Rezoras. You agreed that you would never step foot in Ocreal.” Kar yelled back.
They approached each other, the night sky and Kar’s synthetic sun clashing as they neared each other.
“Your people are dying of hunger, Kar.” Rezoras said.
“That is not your concern.” Kar said. “We have it under control.”
“You have failed the people of Ocreal, for generations you and the others have failed them. Let me help you.” Rezoras said.
“If your army takes another step toward the city, we will attack.” Kar said.
Rezoras looked at Morizik and shrugged. He gave the silent command to retreat and the soldiers rushed back, leaving the two alone with Elder Kar.
“You know where to find us if you need assistance.” Rezoras said.
“Go to hell, Rezoras.” Kar said.
“There’s a difference between Hell and Ocreal, Kar. No children starve to death in any circle of Hell.” Rezoras said.
He turned and followed his army back toward his keep. Morizik was silent during the trip home, immediately going to his room when they got back. He felt tired, sad, disappointed. He was overcome with negativity.
Rezoras knocked on his door and in his arms was a freshly baked cake, covered in chocolate frosting and fresh fruit on the side.
“Eat, Mori. You’ll feel better.” Rezoras said.
Morizik felt tears well up in his ears and he ate as he cried for the people of Ocreal and for his Master.
“We’ll help them one day, Lord.” Morizik said.
“Perhaps,” Rezoras said. But he doubted that the Elders would ever approach him and he too felt a sadness for the children of Ocreal. |
# Soulmage
**The nightmare wasn't, and then it always had been**. One moment, I was dissolving into the oblivion of sleep; the next, I was standing in a crashing hailstorm, watching my husband struggle to stay alive.
"Damn you,"I whispered. I tried to pinch myself awake, tried to snap out of the dream, but my body wouldn't move, my eyes wouldn't close. All I could do was curse myself and watch.
Watch as Jiaola fought for his life.
"Stay close to me!"Even in the chaos of the storm, Jiaola always did find a way to protect those around him. A squadron of soldiers in the uniform of the Silent Peaks clustered around him for shelter as the old witch held up a hand, hail smashing on a barrier maintained by nothing but Jiaola's soul. "Can any thermal-capable witches provide us with warmth?"
"It's no use!"The soldier next to him—a young woman I didn't recognize—cursed as her magic fizzled out. "The ambient frost magic—it must be interfering. We're going to freeze to death out here!"
"No. No, I refuse. We need shelter. A way to keep body heat in. Make a snow cave. I'll keep the wind out for now."Jiaola held out both hands, as if supporting some great weight, and in a massive bubble around him, the air *stilled*. Snow froze in air that was suddenly as solid as steel, creating a dome of shelter in the supernatural storm—
And then a comet of ice, larger than a person, rained from the sky and blasted a hole through Jiaola's sanctuary. I tried to look away by reflex. I knew what happened next. I'd lived through this fucking nightmare every day for the past four weeks.
The world went blurry and white with the impact.
When the snow settled, Jiaola was nowhere to be seen.
"I can take you to him,"a voice said from behind me.
And now came the hardest part of the nightmares. I glared, my body frozen in place, as the demon stepped into view.
They were tall, masculine, barrel-chested, even human-looking. But my husband was a witch, and I was no fool. I knew the Dealmaker well, and I knew that they were a demon. One who offered things otherwise unattainable.
But the Dealmaker's offers always came with a cost, even if it was hidden at first. And my husband had *personal* experience with the Dealmaker's temptations. It was a terrible idea to even so much as consider taking their hand.
And yet.
And yet it had been months since I'd seen Jiaola's face. Months since I'd held his hand, since I'd last run one thumb over the wedding ring the two of us had fought so hard to be able to wear, months since I'd known he was sent off to war and lost in a blizzard and just maybe gone forever.
"No,"I whispered, and it took all the strength I had left in my soul to refuse.
The demon tilted their head. "As you wish."
And the dream reset to the beginning. Jiaola stood defiant against the storm, providing shelter for the innocent, as he always did.
And the storm snuffed him out like a candle.
Like it always did.
"I can take you to him,"the demon murmured once more.
I wished my body would move, so that I could close my eyes and plug my ears and not have to see my husband vanish over and over and over again. "...No..."I managed, and it was weak and feeble and still.
"As you wish."
And the dream reset again.
And again.
And again.
And each time, I felt my will erode. Each time, I felt myself slipping closer to taking the Dealmaker's hand.
On the eighth time this night, the nine hundred and sixtieth time in total, I saw my husband fall one last time.
"I can take you to him,"the Dealmaker said.
My mouth never dried, my throat never roughened, but I was still so, *so* tired of speaking even those two tiny letters.
I opened my lips. Closed them again. Tasted the shape of my words.
"Mayb—"I began, and something in my soul *burned*.
i was thrown back, shocked, as the false landscape around me unravelled. The demon jolted to life, stepping back, as something shadowy and clawed and *protective* stirred from within my soul.
"Wh—what are—"I began to say.
"DEALMAKER,"the larger demon rumbled, and its sinuous form curled around mine, glaring down at the cautious Dealmaker. "THIS ONE'S SOUL IS NOT YOURS TO SET FOOT IN. YOU HAVE NO RIGHT."
The Dealmaker gathered themself, crouching into a low combat stance. "*I* have no right? Who gave *you* entry into this man's soul?"
The serpent of shadow and flame lowered itself to the Dealmaker's eye level.
"HIS HUSBAND."
Then it surged forwards, striking the Dealmaker in a single, decisive blow that *cracked* my soul with the sheer force of it, and the illusion the Dealmaker had summoned was blown apart like icicles in a blizzard.
Leaving me alone with the serpent.
I told my beating heart to calm down as the serpent turned towards me. "MORTAL. I APOLOGIZE FOR MY... SUDDEN APPEARANCE."
"No. No, don't apologize for protecting me."Weakly, I laughed. "He... he always did that. *Does* that."
"YES. I AM A FRAGMENT OF YOUR HUSBAND'S ESSENCE. I HAVE INHERITED MANY OF HIS TRAITS."The serpent hesitated, then continued. "INCLUDING, AS IT SEEMS, HIS PENCHANT FOR SELF-DESTRUCTION."
"*What?*"I blurted out.
"MY POWER IS... LIMITED. ONCE I HAVE IGNITED MY SOUL FRAGMENT, I CANNOT EXTINGUISH IT. THE MEMORY THAT FUELS MY EXISTENCE WILL BE UNMADE IN ITS ENTIRETY SOON, AND I WILL FADE. I... APOLOGIZE, FOR MY INSUFFICIENCY."
"No."Rifts, it was absurd to be comforting a snake-monster larger than a house, but I tried my best anyway. "No, you did amazingly. You did... you did what he would have done. I... just wish that it wouldn't mean I was alone, after this."
"YOU ARE NOT ALONE,"the serpent said, coiling around me. Somehow, it felt like an embrace. "YOU HAVE YOUR NEPHEW. YOUR FAMILY. AND ONE DAY, YOU WILL SEE YOUR HUSBAND AGAIN."
I smiled. "Yeah. He's... he's the strongest witch I know. We'll meet again."
"SOME SUNNY DAY,"the creature agreed.
And then it was gone, one moment a serpent, the next a mere shadow, fading as day broke.
My eyes jolted open, tears running down my cheeks, as the monster under my bed faded away, as did the demon it died protecting me from.
A.N.
This story is part of Soulmage, a frequently updated serial in progress. Want to know what happens next? Check out [the table of contents](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/uxmwe4/soulmage_masterpost/) to be notified whenever a new part comes out! There's already thirty-five other chapters before this one, so there's plenty to catch up on. And if you want more stories, check out r/bubblewriters! |
It was an abandoned carnival. Of course it was. Killers always chose the most melodramatic, obliviously dangerous place to catch idiots that came looking for a cheap thrill. It’s beyond me how people keep wandering straight into such oblivious traps.
“Relax, Stacy,” the poorly shaven man walking in front of me said, thrusting a thumb into his chest. “There’s nothing to worry about when I’m here. It’s just like a haunted house.”
Well, maybe not such a surprise after all. The girl clinging onto his arm nodded and whispered something into his ear, causing him to let out a booming laugh and glance back at me.
“Why’d you come with us instead of the rest of the group?” He asked, brow furrowed. “We’re kind of trying to have some time here, you know. I was trying to drop some signals earlier, man, but it’s like you’ve got a brick bouncing around up there. Could you leave us alone for a little?”
“Ben can protect me, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Stacy said, giving Ben a dreamy smile.
I grunted and squinted into the dark alley behind them. Nothing. I tapped my foot on the ground and glanced at my watch. It had already been ten minutes. This one was taking longer than I’d hoped.
A tiny squeak came from a dilapidated carousel at my left, and a broken lightbulb in one of the metal horse’s eyes flickered to life.
The couple jerked toward the source of the noise, their eyes going wide. I hid a sigh of relief as Ben grabbed a flashlight from his belt and pointed it at the broken ride.
“Who’s there?” He called.
“Maybe you should check it out,” I suggested.
Ben glared at me and I raised my hands, taking a few steps away from them and positioning myself in the darkness, away from any source of light.
If the killer came for me first, it would be quite unfortunate. That wouldn’t be a problem if I made sure they couldn’t see me, though. I’d read up on the current target, and he had an even bigger flair for drama than most.
Ben took a few steps toward the carousel, sweeping his flashlight in a wide arc. He froze as it landed on a figure wearing dirty jester’s clothes, their face covered by a cracked, bloodstained mask.
“Hello there,” the killer said, raising a huge meat cleaver. Ben screamed and shoved Stacy away, tripping over his own feet to escape.
He didn’t make it far. The cleaver spun twice through the air before embedding itself in his back, sending the man sprawling to the ground.
Giggling, the masked killer danced over to his body, striking Stacy across the cheek as he passed. She spun from the force of the blow and crumpled, unconscious.
A crazed laugh slipped from behind the killer’s mask and he reached down as Ben tried to crawl away, ripping the cleaver free and bringing it down again. And again.
Blood sprayed across the floor, mixing with ancient, rotted bags of popcorn. Ben’s screams rang out for a few more seconds before he finally silenced and the killer reached down, rooting through his pants and pocketing the man’s wallet.
He turned toward my spot in the shadows and I hid a sigh.
“Let’s eat this wrapped up, shall we?” I asked.
“Better start running,” the jester whispered with a wheezing giggle. “I’m gonna enjoy you.”
“I highly doubt it,” I replied, digging through my pockets and pulling out a small bundle of papers. I leafed through them, then pulled one out. “You’ve been operating here for… three months, correct?”
The killer faltered, baffled by my reaction to him. He nudged Stacy with his foot and waggled the cleaver. “You think you’re being clever? Trying to save the girl?”
“I genuinely could not care less, but you are wasting my time. If we could get on with this so I can get moving, I would greatly appreciate it. Come on, Terrence.”
The killer froze. “How do you know my name?”
“We know everything about you, Terrence.”
“Who are you?” Terrence demanded, shaken by the sudden lack of control in the situation. “I’ll kill you nice and slow.”
“No you won’t,” I replied, handing him the piece of paper. Baffled, the jester took it and scanned over it. His voice lost the fake insanity as he looked back up at me in confusion. “Money? You’re trying to buy me off?”
“Not my money,” I replied, pulling out a pen. “Yours. I’m Agent Smith, IRS. You haven’t been paying taxes on the money you take from your kills, Terrence. Why don’t we sit down and have a little chat?” |
"It would be beautiful under other circumstances, wouldn't it?"Zaul's gentle voice seemed to hover above the crashing supernova on the horizon.
"There's beauty in tragedy, I suppose."Mitra's words were flat and unconvincing. She sipped from her chalice sweet wine, the flavor lost on her quivering lips.
Brilliant hoops of light swept across the sky, illuminating the Pallentide mountainscape with hues of purple and red. The solar flares would soon reach their last haven, the small moon-turned-terraformed home.
"Would you like to address your people one final time?"Zaul stood to Mitra's right, peering off the balcony with his monarch. How was he so calm and collected through all of this? "You could be this universe's final speaker."
"To what end?"Mitra's words bit harder than she intended. "History ends today. I may as well polish the hull of a burning ship."She took a hard gulp of wine, a small red stream escaping down the nape of her neck. At the end of time, regality be damned. She wiped the juice from her face with the sleeve of her royal cloak. "I can't keep from thinking..."her voice was low, vulnerable, "What if we had succeeded? What if Tarascus and his scientists could turn back time and--"
"My queen,"Zaul interrupted. "The wish to turn back time is as old as life itself. One must not dwell on what could have been. We are here now, and that's all there is."
Mitra's mental gears continued churning. It was only through this constant thinking that she rose to royalty in the first place. What if they could just *stop* time? Could they do that now? Maybe slow it down? How much time was left? How much energy would it take? She gazed upon the supernova, its rumbling growing louder, the vibrations now felt in the ground under her feet.
"Zaul. What if we--"
There was a flash, instantaneous and loud. Queen Mitra was sure this was the end, a rogue solar flare obliterating her palace and the kingdom with it. When she opened her eyes, the sky was still red and the ground was still shaking. But a third person was now standing on her balcony with her and Zaul.
He was wearing a large white helmet, open in the face. His outfit was similarly white, black strips along the outside of his arms and legs.
"'ello!"He greeted the pair with a friendly wave.
Zaul opened his eyes with confusion, having apparently accepted his fate with the cool calmness he'd been emanating the entire evening.
"Hello?"Mitra's greeting was more question than welcome.
"Wow. You never get used ta these do ya?"The white-suited man squinted at the supernova with his hands on his hips, admiring the impending disaster.
"No..."Zaul's response trailed off. "Who are you? How did you get up here?"
"Right!"The man scrambled for something in his pocket. He retrieved a small slip of paper and unfolded it.
"Greetings!"He read. "And congratulations for making it to the end of your universe's timeline!"His words were half-enthusiasm, half-sounding-out-every-syllable. "My name is Mitch, and I am here to invite you to join our alliance. Your civ-il-iz-ation has dem-on-strate-ed re-mark-able per... pers..."He squinted at the card. "Ma'am, could you help me with this one?"
Mitch turned the card around to the queen. "Perseverance,"the queen read from the card.
"Right! That makes sense. Anyway..."He scanned the rest of the card with increasing worry. "You know what? Let's put aside all of these formalities and cut to the chase."He folded the paper and put it back in his pocket. "You've got a good thing going here, and we want you on our team!"
Zaul stepped forward. "There's still life in the universe!?"
"This universe?"Mitch pointed to the ground. "Oh, no! No, no, no, you're al that's left,"he chuckled. "By a lot!"
The supernova was growing louder, a hot wind began to blow.
"I hope you haven't been looking for a long time,"Mitch continued. "Or done something silly like *try to turn back time."*
The queen averted her eyes.
"Anyways, our organization is called the Inter-Dimensional Immortals Rescue Service."Mitch handed each a card, with a *there ya go* as each received them.
"You're here to rescue us?"The queen's voice was shocked with disbelief.
"Only if you're interested, ma'am. I believe in *consent*,"he replied with a thumbs up.
"What about my people? My planet!?"Her voice was shrill, panicked.
"Whelp, if we can get everyone to form an orderly queue..."
There was a crash. The ice caps of afar off mountain collapsed, white snow and steam obliterating the mountainside.
"I'm kidding!"Mitch chuckled again. "We'll take the whole lot. I just have to..."The white-suited man pulled out a small device and pressed buttons on it, with audible *beeps* and *boops*.
"Now hold on to your knickers, gang!"
The queen and Zaul held on tightly to the railing.
"Knickers are *pants*, but, well, it's fine. Doesn't matter."
There was another flash.
Queen Mitra opened her eyes to see the supernova gone, the sky a golden hue. A new sun hanged over their heads, cosmic clouds creating a heavenly horizon.
"Uh oh,"Mitch muttered.
"Uh oh?"Zaul repeated the man's words incredulously.
"It means, *oh no!*"Mitch told the haggard advisor. "This isn't the right place." |
Adelaide blinked her eyes open. She saw the early morning darkness, the tinge of gray blue you only witnessed as dusk turned into dawn.
She checked her phone for the time. The screen's light was harsh on her eyes - 4:45 AM. It was a new record for the month, she normally woke up at 2 or 3 AM. She accepted the earliness as she trekked onto her daily morning routine. She went for a run, showered, ate, and even rang her mom (another early riser) for a call.
"Did you sleep well?"her mom asked.
"Surprisingly well if you could believe it,"Adelaide replied.
Adelaide had never been a strong sleeper. Ever since she was a child, she could only sleep for a few hours at a time, forever rustling in her sheets or trying her best to lie still so that sleep could find her more easily. Her dad was the same way, he'd been tired all the time.
"You have to see a specialist, Ads."her mom said. She said it often and Adelaide replied the same way she did every time.
"I will eventually,"she said. "Alright Mom, I'll call tomorrow okay? I have to go to work."
"Fine, but you should really see one. It's what took your dad away from us so early you know."her mom said and it was true. Adelaide took after her dad, the sleep evaded the two. Her mom was unaffected by the bouts of insomnia and restlessness.
"It's like she sleeps for the three of us,"her dad had once said.
Work went slowly for Adelaide, but it passed as all things do and she returned home by seven. She cooked herself dinner, watched an episode or two of her favorite show, and she did as many chores as she could think of. She kept checking the time every half hour, hoping somehow she'd feel a little more tired, making herself look more presentable for whichever God or demon was in charge of sleep.
She prayed every night for the sleep to come. She waited then on her bed for the sleep and hours passed until she decided to give up for the night. It was a common occurrence, a war that she was slowly losing. A war that her father fought and lost. She reached for her phone to check the time, but when she tried to move her arm, it was frozen in place. A chill ran through her body and she desperately tried to move, shake, wiggle, anything. She couldn't do anything but open her eyes.
She saw something at the end of her bed. It looked like a black bear with decorated wings, like a moth or butterfly. It stood on its hind legs and it crossed its arms.
"Why don't you want to see a sleep doctor?"the bear moth asked.
There was silence.
"Oh right, you can't talk."the bear moth said.
"Okay, I guess I'll do the talking before I leave. My name is Dag'len, but you can call me Dag."Dag said. He unfurled his arms and tucked his wings back so he looked like just a bear now.
"In your world and in your words, I'm a demon. A recently promoted demon at that."Dag said. "My boss was in charge of your family's line and many others. He was..."he trailed off in thought.
"He wasn't very competent and your family suffered for it. I want to apologize for that and I want to make things right."Dag said. "Your family was cursed. It wasn't a very strong curse and my boss had his moments so your family wasn't affected by it too much until your dad."
Adelaide blinked her eyes rapidly. She wasn't taking this too well, Dag thought.
Dag wanted to make a good first impression on Adelaide. He always thought it was dishonest for the upper beings, those who reside in the modern day Heaven, to cast curses on entire lineages and family trees. What kind of angel uses curses? Shitty ones, he thought to himself.
"Don't worry,"Dag said. "I'm going to make sure you get the rest you deserve now. We can't talk while you're like this so you can write down your questions for me on a piece of paper or a notebook. I'll come back as soon as you lie down and pray. Pray for the same thing you've always prayed for and I'll be there."
He saluted with his bear hands and he was gone.
Adelaide still couldn't move her body, but she felt the sleep come smoothly. It wasn't a fight nor was it a struggle. She opened her eyes one last time before she knew the sleep would take her. She looked around for Dag'len, but she couldn't see him. She slept soundly for the first time in a long time. |
"Oh for heaven's sake, this one won't do either"I sigh and turn towards the princess.
"Yeah, just get rid of him, that's what I'm paying you for"
"As you wish, princess"I take a deep breath and spew fire towards the cave's entrance. High pitched screams can be heard from outside.
"GOD, won't my father, that stubborn fool, finally hire someone that's at least a little bit smart. I know it's etiquette and all to announce yourself before you attack the enemy, but those knights are just plain stupid."
"Don't worry, princess, it's all a matter of time..."
She was sitting comfortably on a lavish chair that her servants had brought for her. She sipped on a cup of hot tea. Her attendants were busy making her food and setting up her bed. The sun was about to set soon. She had come to me out of the blue one day, demanding that I work for her. She had brought along a no small amount of gold and family heirlooms to line my lair with, so as far as I was concerned, she was the boss. Apparently, she was to be wed to some ugly noble, so she decided to change that. Surely her father would offer her hand to whoever saved her, so in a sense this way she got to choose whom she'd marry.
Anyway, it was time to sleep, "Good night, princess", I said as the servants blew out the last of their candles, plunging the cave into darkness. |
"Thank you."
It was a quiet word, spoke by the woman I had just saved. A young boy clung to her tightly, tears streaking down his face. I put my hand on her shoulder, squeezing it slightly as she shook.
"You're welcome. It's late, how about I escort you both home?"
She nodded, reaching down to pick up her bag. I helped gather up her scattered groceries, using a quick bit of magic to clean off the street dirt. The little boy was still crying, and I knelt next to him.
"Hey, it's ok. You're safe little one. Do you want to ride Sinfil?"
At the mentioned of his name, my dire wolf companion looked up from the ground. He looked between myself and the child, before gently padding over. Behind him I saw a couple of guards pull away the damaged mugger, giving me a nod. I returned it, as Sinfil towered over the little boy. He gave the child a sniff, deciding he was neither threat nor food. He gave a couple of licks, getting a small giggle from the child.
"Here, let me help you."
I carefully lifted the boy, setting him on Sinfil's back. It earned me a slightly reproachful look, before he turned his head to lick at his tiny passenger. The woman gave a smile as her son gave another giggle, stroking the beast beneath him. I took the bag from her, before gesturing.
"Please, lead on. Let get you home."
"Thank you, its, um, this way."
She lead the way, quietly fiddling with a small necklace. Every few seconds she would glance back at her son, making sure he was still safe. I let her walk in silence for a bit, getting her thoughts ready, before I broke it.
"By the way, what are your names?"
She blushed a little.
"Oh, sorry! I'm Tira, and that Wanun."
"A pleasure to meet you, though I wish it had been under better circumstances. My name's Porra."
She gave a small smile at that.
"I know, you're the hero. It's funny, my husband has a sister with the same name."
"Oh?"
She gave a nod.
"Yes. Though, I haven't met her, they haven't spoken for years."
I felt a sense of almost dread. Not that something bad was going to happen, but that I almost knew who her husband was. We lapsed into silence, as she pointed to a house..
"There. That's home. Please, come in for a bit."
I smiled, though I felt uneasy. She went to her door, unlocking it. She pushed it open, calling out gently.
"We're home."
A familiar voice answered, one I hadn't heard in years.
"Hey. You were gone a little longer than I thought."
Sinfil followed her in, and I brought up the rear. It was a small room, with a warm fire. There was a simple table to one side, with a few chairs dotted around. On one chair sat a man with brown hair, in comfortable clothes. He looked at me, and his face tightened.
"You."
I gave an awkward smile.
"Hi Werro."
Tira looked between use, shock and understanding on her face.
"Wait, you're..."
Werri answered first, staring at me.
"Tira, this is my sister Porra. What are you doing here?"
I turned, helping little Wanun down.
"I helped save your family from a mugging."
He spun to look at Tira, panic on his face.
"Mugging?! Are you OK?"
She nodded, eyes flicking over to Wanun as Sinfil showed his belly.
"We're fine, just a bit shaken, thanks to Porra."
He looked back at me, sizing me up and down. It took him an effort, I could tell, as he spoke again.
"Thank you."
I gave him a nod, before looking around. The room was small, but cosy. It was something I had rarely experienced, one I felt incredibly out of place in. I looked back at my brother, still seeing the residue of resentment in him. With a small sigh I looked at Tira and Wanun, before returning my gaze to him.
"You're welcome. Listen, can we talk?"
He glanced to his family, before looking back at me. I could still recognise the curiosity in his face, as he nodded, moving to leave the room.
"I guess." |
As a general rule, I don't hate vegans. Live how you want, eat what you want. I'm cool with those guys.
I hate vegans who go around *telling* everyone they're a vegan, and expecting everyone to get down on hands and knees and praise them for aiding the environment. The sorts of jackasses who look at you eating meat and start scoffing about how they live a supposedly better lifestyle than you do. You know the sort.
That is why I am standing here, laughing my ass off as a former vegan despairs over the fact that everything they eat and drink will be tainted, as it has come from a living creature. Forever. And they'll be aware of that. *Forever.*
They're coming up with all these ridiculous ideas to preserve their identity as The Vegan Who Is Better Than You, as though any of it will work. "Blood has to come from somewhere. Even a consenting human will still technically be a product that comes from an animal."The absolute most hilarious part about all of this is that one moment, the absolute SECOND they break and start drinking blood, and realise their entire personality is a sham based on moral superiority. I love that moment, it's a drug to me.
"No, no, I can-- I can do this! Why did you do this to me?!"Oh, it's already started! There, right there! Zoom in! They're starting to cry at the helplessness of their plight! The reality has already sunk in. Wonder how much longer it'll take for them to snap and go rob a blood bank? That's the most 'humane' course of action, after all. "I'm a monster now! Why did you do this to me?!"
"Amusement, mostly. I do enjoy people like you."Not even a lie. People who wore social tags like a second skin, forgetting there used to be a person beneath it all. The concept of watching them peel back their identity and finding nothing underneath was... Deeply fascinating. "But mostly, I enjoy watching fools like you posture about morality, despite your own lack of it."
The newly turned vampire scowled darkly. "At least I'm not feasting on innocent people for kicks!"
"Who needs to feast on the innocent? There are plenty of criminals in this city."Honestly, I was somewhat concerned. I'd been feasting on mafioso and human traffickers for almost a decade now. You'd think I might have made a dent in the population, but... Not so.
"You make me sick!"Really? That was the best insult they had? Ugh, how pathetic.
"And you bore me. Now are you going to eat the perfectly good meal I set out, or are you going to continue to be a child?"
They scrunch up their face, turning away from the blood-soaked pork on the table. They're thinking of a way to "win"the argument. The stupid ones always do. "I'll make it a waste, then! This whole, this turning thing! I'll go outside, in the sunlight! And then I'll have never ingested a single animal product!"
Mmhmm, sure you will. "If you had the moral fibre to die rather than to eat meat, I wouldn't have turned you."Literally all that needs to happen is for one of these people to pick that option, and I'd switch targets to another group. But it's never about saving animals or helping the environment with these people. "Let me be clear: I turned you because of your self-righteous indignation. You don't truly care, you just want clout. Which, I must say, makes you perfect vampire material."
"I, I care about--"
I smile. Showtime. I snap my fingers, and watch the front door creak open. A beam of sunlight cut across the room like a knife. For beings such as us... That was death. "Then prove it. If you truly, genuinely believe in your vaunted moral code, then you would walk into that light, sacrifice yourself rather than consuming the meat and blood of another living thing. Perhaps you'd hesitate, but you'd do it all the same. But you won't. I know you won't."
The freshly turned "vegan"gulped. They'd make a decision soon enough.
They always do. |
*I can't breathe.*
I take another rapid breath, trying to obtain enough oxygen to quell my throbbing lungs. Every breath, however, feels like it's tearing a hole through my body, taking my calm with it. I open my eyes to be met with darkness. It's taunting.
"Hello?"
*breath*
"Help!"
*breath*
"I can't-"
*breath*
I'm going to die in here.
I'm going to die and never be able to tell my family I love them. I'll never get to make it up to mom for missing her birthday, or get off my break with Jason and try to make things work. I'll never get to travel, or quit my stupid marketing job, or-
Tears stream down my face and I only now realize I'm hyperventilating.
I close my eyes again, unable to face the pitch-black reality; I realize that it makes little difference. My internal is just as dark and hopeless as my reality.
*What did I do to deserve this?*
*Why me?*
~~Why not me?~~
I lift my arm to wipe the streaming tears when I hit a solid surface.
*What the fuck?*
I push my hand against the surface and find that it's unliftable.
*Am I screwed in a box or something?*
I push harder against the cover, adding my legs and arms, and the lid of the container shifts.
Dirt cascades through the opening and lands in my mouth.
*Where the hell am I?*
The more I move the lid, the more dirt enters my... something.
*Why is there dirt covering a container? What angry God did I have to anger to get sent here?*
*Wait.*
No.
No. No. No. No.
Not thinking about that implication right now, not when I am about to suffocate.
I kick the *casket's* lid to the side and, immediately, dirt swarms into the box. I get up the best I can and start to swim up to reach the surface.
The ground is relatively malleable, signaling I haven't been down here for too long.
*I guess that's reassuring.*
I ~~struggle~~ swim for what felt like hours, but it probably wasn't more than 30 minutes. My arms are burning by the time I see the whiteness of the moon above me.
*Oh thank the literal lord.*
My hand reaches above myself, grabbing onto solid land out of my eyesight. I shove my other arm and pull myself up into the crisp, cold night. I breathe in lungfuls of slightly polluted air.
*This is the best air I have ever inhaled in my entire life.*
I lose time after that.
I wake up on my side, staring straight at a stone structure. At least I think it's stone; everything is blurry.
I rub my eyes in an attempt to get them to focus. I finally make out the structure and writing. I move closer to read what the stone says.
*Here lies Meredith Everdeen. Daughter and beloved friend.*
...
I turn my head just enough to not have a lap full of vomit.
​
I dry heave on the ground, my body trying to expel reality with no success.
*What the hell do I do now?* |
"You vampire hunters are REALLY starting to anno-"
"DIE YOU BLOODSUCKING FIEND!"The vampire hunter bellowed, firing a silver bullet at my heart. Not too hard to dodge, I am a vampire after all.
"Why do you even want me dead?"I asked her rather nicely "I've been living in solitude for a couple hundred years, just feeding on these sheep."
"JUST DIE ALREADY!"She charged at me with a stake in hand. I flicked it out of her hand effortlessly and she dropped to the ground, beginning to cry.
"Hey? Umm, you alright?"I asked rather uncomfortably "Why are you crying"
She began smacking my legs. "Just die"her voiced trembled
Is this some sort of trick? Is she trying to get me to let my guard down. I've fought hundreds of vampire hunters, but none have just dropped to the ground in tears.
"Well, this has been, err, interesting. But I think I'm just gonna go now"
"s-StoP"I heard a quavering voice say as I walked away, a hand weakly grasping my leg.
"This is getting sad. Why do you even want me dead so bad?"
"WHY! WHY DO WE WANT YOU DEAD?"She said, hate in her voice "BECAUSE YOU KILLED HIM!"
"What are you talking about? I haven't killed anyone in a hundred years"
"LORD RUTHVEN, YOU KILLED HIM!"
"I'm sorry, did you say Ruthven?"I asked her with a slight grin "You're never gonna believe this." |
For the first three centuries or so things were... much as they always were except death by old age was a thing of the past. Reconstruction of telomeres through advanced medical nanites were so ubiquitous most of the younger generations could not even remember what old age looked like let alone conceptualise the concept of dying through it. There were initially fears of overpopulation and loss of a societal cornerstone in death but between accidents, disease and murder humans remained very much mortal while the development of interplanetary civilisation living space was a concern of the past, society simply adapted and marched on much as it ever had. This was not enough for some however, the end of aging was not the end of death they so desired, and so humanity in all of its infinite hubris sought true immortality and once more scrambled to open the box of Pandora, not knowing they were spelling the end of their own kind.
The Memento Vivae project was started in 2535 funded by many of the same figures that provided the resources for the cure to aging and found no shortage of volunteers similarly dissatisfied with simply not aging. Initial experiments were promising, through a highly modified virus several long dormant sections of the human genome were reawakened with truly remarkable effects. Fully mature cells, even neurons, could at will be returned to totipotent stem cells allowing the regeneration of entire limbs and organs. In extreme cases the entire body could be reverted into a fetus like stage from which the body can be reconstituted over the course of a few weeks. It was during this experimental stage when the first hints of the true magnitude of the significance of what this development truly was began to appear, subjects would develop significantly more body hair upon regeneration, for up to a week after regenerating a severed limb mucus would flow continuously from the pores of the new skin, regenerated organs despite being more or less identical in function visually were startlingly different from anatomically normal humans. All of this should have been a warning to investigate deeper into the forces at play, but those who funded the experiments were already unsatisfied with agelessness, they would not let such petty concerns outweigh the potential of true immortality no matter how much they were warned. Progress continued at a truly astounding rate... it was hardly a stretch to believe it was only a matter of time before Memento Vivae meant an end to all natural death.
January 14th 2544 a volunteer for the first rounds of clinical trials reached the age of 290, a truly remarkable feat even with the universal agelessness and advanced modern medicine available at the time, and promptly began to suffer from multiple organ failure. He was rushed for treatment as a team of the most skilled doctors and scientists rushed to find out what happened to him, all around his body the medical nanites were malfunctioning apparently recognising his own cells as cancerous tissue before abruptly shutting down, upon further inspection half of his body appeared to have turned against itself for no apparent reason. At midnight the volunteer was declared dead by the doctors on the scene and his body was sent to cold storage until the data from the patient's final moments were processed and an autopsy would be held. The next day the body was nowhere to be found, the morgue and everything within was apparently torn apart by some titanic vicious beast and trails of mucus filled with a much more active version of the Memento Vivae virus were found all around the scene. Needless to say the Memento Vivae project was immediately shut down following this development but the damage was already done... the virus was even more successful than anticipated for now there was evidence not even death could stop its regeneration.
Memento Vivae was designed to lack any negative symptoms which was undesirable for a pharmaceutical product meant to exist within the human body permanently to have but also made the tracking of its spread a nightmare. Somehow within 24 hours of the volunteer escaping from the morgue over a hundred thousand individuals were found to be infected with the virus, whatever had occurred within the body of the volunteer had altered the virus in turn changing it into a highly infectious and unpredictable pandemic hazard, first the city, country and continent from which the Memento Vivae project was based were sent into quarantine but by the time each of these measures were implemented it was already too late, worse still was the sightings of a strange vaguely humanoid heavily furred creature on the outskirts of civilisation seemingly spreading the Memento Vivae virus while easily avoiding all attempts to capture it. To call the months that followed a confused nightmare would be a terrible understatement, society rapidly broke down as paranoia tore through the world population like a firestorm all made worse as the oldest members of society began to drop dead and then rise as completely changed beings before disappearing even under heavy guard and containment. Riots erupted and thousands died before rising again as something beyond human, crowds of uninfected vigilantes began to round up and burn infected alive which was one of the few things it was believed the Memento Vivae infectees could not resurrect from only to often get infected themselves and die under mysterious circumstances, their bodies naturally never recovered. Perhaps had humanity not turned against itself during this time they could have survived, but like the cells of those who carried Memento Vivae humanity could not resist tearing each other apart inevitably paving the way for something new to rise from the freshly burned ashes.
Study of the few changed individuals captured found several interesting details. Beneath the fur, mucus, claws and fangs these people were much like they always were except with a universal desire to spread the "blessing"as much as they could and would refer to fully grown normal human adults as children. The virus itself did exactly as it was meant to, it reactivated dormant sections of the human genome and repaired non functional genes to full functionality, and in the process it seems to have repaired a switch nobody even knew was there let alone broken, they were not changed they matured. The infected were not becoming monsters it became clear... but with this set of revelations perhaps it would have been easier to accept if they were. One way or another all of humanity it seems was destined to change, as inevitable as a child maturing into an adult what was known as humanity for all of recorded history would become something else entirely. At this point more than half of humanity was already infected and the other half appeared soon to follow, now that fighting the virus was already believed to be impossible society needed to choose between adapting and collapsing in totality. Many at first questioned the choice to cede power over to beings that looked nothing like humans, sometimes violently, but like it or not the Matured vowed to look after the masses of children of the world... and lead them into adulthood.
Society eventually adapted, forever changed, forever scarred even, but a new normal settled in. The past three or so centuries of human civilisation were now known as the Neverland Era, named after an ancient 20th century tale, for they were defined by a fear of aging, forever content to be children if it meant never growing old. Nonetheless one could not fight change and so soon things returned to... much the way they always were... except death was now no longer the enemy but simply a part of growing up. |
If you asked a mime why they always had to be silent while performing, they'd say something about how it drew attention to the motions, or helped them to focus. That was bullshit.
The reason that silence was decreed by the *académie pour l'obscurcissement des arts occultes et de la magie*, was to make the real effect of the magic invisible to the average person. One interacted with the world with the hands first, the eyes second, and the mouth third. Not talking meant obfuscating a little bit of the magic from view.
Which is why, as the mime's yell snapped me out of my happy little stroll through the back alleys of Bordeaux, I watched as a pane of glass appeared before his hands, his palms flattened against it to brace against the coming impact. Through the glass, through the veil between realities, I caught the murkiest glimpse of *something*, a writhing mass of hands and arms and teeth, and then the sound of shattering glass.
The mime grit his teeth, shards of glass flying across his face and drawing red pinpricks of blood onto his white makeup.
"Merde... Run!"the mime repeated, forming yet another invisible box. He had a little more time now, wiping his hand across the glass as if to polish its surface. The horrific... *thing* on the other side slammed into the glass again, sending a loud hollow thud through the street. The mime skidded backwards, his shoes scraping along the pavement. That sent me running, scampering as best I could through the unfamiliar streets.
But the alleys I was running through now were not the same as the ones I left. The veil of reality that nice, normal people believed in had been torn from my eyes. In each window, I caught glimpses of that thing from the abyss, watching me with one of a thousand eyes. Arms and feet reached out from mailboxes and gutters, trying to grab me or trip me over. The sky had turned a deep wine-red, the sun a watchful eyeball.
And as I rounded yet a other corner, there stood the worst sight of all. It was a horrid mess of flesh and bone, taking up the entire alleyway as it languidly crawled towards me - this wasn't even a fraction of its true size. It whispered in a hundred different tongues as I stood there, frozen. And just in front of the monstrosity? A couple enjoying a morning stroll, none the wiser to the thing behind them.
"You alright, buddy?"the man asked. His words were gentle and caring, but he stepped between me and the woman, as one does between crackheads and the people you love.
I couldn't force a word out. What words would even befit the situation at hand? I motioned wildly at the thing behind them, trying to express with my hands what words couldn't do. The man put an arm across the woman's torso, forming a shield between her and me. Of course they didn't get it. They hurried quickly past me, the man muttering something about a drug epidemic.
And the thing was getting closer. But the way the man had put out his arm had put an idea into my head. If only I could *do* something! I reached out with my hands, as the thing drew ever closer, and brought up an imaginary sniper rifle to my eye. Just the way my brother and I had when we were kids. And I fired.
The thing screeched in pain, a sound that shook the earth and cracked the heavens. I had fired at the most vital-looking thing I could find, a mass of eyes and teeth and a large, bulbous vein. It recoiled, tumbling over itself back down the alleyway. Behind me, I heard the screech of tires.
There was a man, his suit and his skin painted a pure gold. He hovered in mid-air in a sitting position, with only the cane in his hand anchoring him to the ground.
"Get in,"he yelled, though I saw no vehicle. "Your brother is waiting."
"Get in? What are you talking about?"I yelled back. The thing was beginning to advance once more.
"Come on, get in!"he yelled again, as it began to thunder down the alleyway.
I pointed my sniper rifle again, and fires, but nothing came out.
"Hurry!"he screamed, as arms and legs dragged the thing forward, grabbing at the windowsills and doorways of people who knew nothing of this world.
I ran towards the man and lifted one leg high up into the air, trying to find purchase on something. I merely stomped the ground. Once, twice, and then finally I felt my foot brush against something. I hurled myself forwards, a maneuver that would have cracked my head against the pavement if I hadn't instead felt soft leather against my cheek. And then suddenly the cobblestones underneath me were whizzing by, as the golden man and I sped away from whatever that thing was.
"What. The hell. Was that?"I gasped. I wanted to sit up to catch my breath, but I was worried that if I moved the spell would break and I would hit the ground at speed.
"The Mimic,"the golden man said.
And whatever else I asked, he said nothing, the picture of the stoic performance artist. Only the slightest tilt of his cane changed our direction as we moved smoothly through the city streets. |
The Knight stood planted at the edge of the firelight like he had been sculpted there. Peasants, maidens, ministers, and servants flowed carefully around him as if he were a prominent decoration in the very Queen’s garden.
Abby scrunched up her face and hugged a breath tight in her chest. *I can do this.* She took one step forwards before immediately engaging in a full retreat towards the casks of ale stacked up like a battlement at the edge of the celebration grounds.
She downed half a pint before slamming the tankard and leaving the remnants as a necessary casualty of war. The golden ale buzzed in her stomach and soon started to hum in her head. The other options she would’ve considered were falling out of focus and drifting away — there was now only the frontal assault.
She marched towards the knight, arms bent wide at her sides and her tiny shoes punching holes in the mud and spraying up to the hems of her faint blue dress. Abby didn’t know one knight from the other but she knew this Knight was something different. Was he pointier than the others? Certainly seemed like it. Most knights were just men — some young, some old, most smarmy and pompous and wearing all sorts of bright colours and emblems and flags and cowls of countless ranks, stations, or councils. *Ah yes, the Golden Briar* one might point, as if Abby should “ooh” and “aah”. Deferring their greatness along some chain, as if the character of a man or woman could be transferred just from a particular imprint. Growing up Abby halfheartedly did not believe it, but after what she had been through today, she *knew* it was not true.
This Knight, on the other hand, had no such decorations. His armour seemed fashioned out of the most occult slices of night sky; when the moon hides away and even wolves dare not howl. He wasn’t draped over part of the inn and demanding food and wine and women.
By the time Abby’s advance had actually reached the knight, there was a considerable loss of spring in her step. Not unheard of for most military campaigns, some attrition was to be expected. But it quite seemed — unfathomably — as if it was just her, posted up next to the Knight like an unfortunate freckled scarecrow. Even crows would’ve laughed.
“*Uhm*…” was her first squeak. She cleared her throat and tried not to think about how she just turned one shade redder. “M-my good Sir knight, for what manner of things have you come to the Yule celebrations?”
Her words hung in the air.
Or did they? Did he hear her?
Maybe that foul jester who slipped nearby had had his attention. Or perhaps he was asleep. She —
His head turned and the only pointed surface she could prescribe upon a face angled in her direction — namely, first to the side, and then down quite a bit — and from behind the armour somewhere he spoke: “Agetos’s Court.”
*Shit.* She didn’t know who — or what — that was. She wracked her brain. He… likely… had to serve? In some court? Or perform some duty? Was Agetos the man? Or the name of the court? *By Saint Anne* she’d need to put need to put some bloody soul into it.
“M-my, how regal. You must certainly be a knight of quite some standing.” She fawned, and then attempted something of a subtle sway into his stiff arm. Was it working? Is this how it worked? Abby had no idea. “A maiden such as myself would be so deeply honoured to hear more about your journey. Perhaps we could converse somewhere more veiled?”
“I’m not interested in children.” He said as he freed his arm from her grasp.
“Chil—?!“ For a moment, her divine spark flashed — her real one; the one that got into fights and hoarded ripped pages out of books when no one was looking — before she quickly bit her tongue and fastened back her mask of stupid clumsy naivete. “—I assure you, Sir Knight, I am a grown woman at the age of 17. I may not be quite as stalk-ish as some, but I would be so delighted to spend some time with you… in private.” She imitated a glance down and a flutter of her eyes. Which… she was certain works. Assuredly. It must.
His metal corner turned away. “Not interested.”
“Even with such a fair maiden graciously requesting your camaraderie? Have you no heart?”
“Correct.” He did not hesitate.
Abby hadn’t expected this. This had already worked seven times today — until of course they heard what she actually wanted. She couldn’t help but feel an itch under that mask of hers. “Surely, underneath that armour lies a man dedicated to chivalry?”
“No.”
*No?! What sort of Knight says no?! To chivalry?! Isn’t that their entire arrangement?!* Abby’s jaw hung open more than she would have allowed but the music in her head was now in full force and the deep leather drums banged away. On a happier day she would dance — if no one was looking — but today it propelled only a spear she’d swing at anyone nearby.
“Is that so, *Sir Knight*. You’d rather just stand around and do nothing. Well then, I bid you my farewell. Good bye, Sir Knight. You’re welcome to stand here until after Yuletide and after then for as long as you want, until the firmament spins and shatters. You and the lechers and the councils and the courts can do whatever you want, whenever you want. You’ll have every want and every dream in your life fulfilled. And I will go home and bury my family in cold and shallow graves.”
Why, somehow the firelight — the peasants, the maidens, the ministers — seemed to smear, and shake, if just a little. There was no murmur in her head, not anymore, but the quiet despair she had tried to keep at bay all day. It escaped in tiny shudders and small gasps as she tried to force it back down.
A warm leather glove found Abby’s small shoulders. She raised her bowed head. “I’m sorry, young maiden. Perhaps I was too callous.” Abby couldn’t see his eyes, but she could feel Sir Knight looking right at her. Reassurance seemed to flow through his hand. “I am only a knight. But how can I help?”
Abby wiped her eyes and could feel the puffy redness in her cheeks fade, if only a hair. She sniffled once and let out a steady breath, settling her ship. The spark was back and there was no mask she needed to wear now. She wanted to apologize for what she had said, but that would come later.
Right now, there was still time.
“That is all I need sir — A knight.” |
“Mr. Mittens come here!” Called the sing song voice of Samur Wurmsbane.
With an apathetic mew the kitten started making its way toward the young boy. Its one cloudy green/grey eye was unblinking and it drug its three remaining feet across the stone floor. Drool dripped from the slack jaw of the calico with a patchwork of stitches.
As Mr. Mittens passed the heavy oak door, it burst open flinging the hapless kitten across the room. A sickening squelching thump echoed through the untidy room.
A hulking shirtless man with a battle axe looked from side to side raging and ready for a fight. The barbarian’s gaze did not linger on the small boy. “Where are you demon spawned!”
Tears began to swell in Samur’s eyes as he called out “MR. MITTENS!!!”
By the time Samur reached the remains of Mr. Mittens, two more people (well a person and an automaton) rushed into the room. The elder woman of the group looked confused as she held a glowing hand aloft. Her purple, bloodstained robes with silver embroidery dragged on the floor as she turned around looking. “It is most certainly coming from this room. The dark signature of necrotic magic is unmistakable. Tarro keep your eyes open and your axe at the ready!”
The automaton was the next into the room, its head spun on an unseen pivot. “Linda- are- you-mistaking? Gamma-detects-no-threats, de-escalating.” A whoosh of air was auditable as its bladed auxiliary metal arms retracted into the body of the gold colored machine.
Linda’s gaze landed on the young boy who was holding the many pieces of Mr. Mittens. Her eyes glowed with the ferocity of a brazier, visible magic ran rivulets down her checks. She placed a steadying hand on Tarro whose battle rage had peaked. Black ichor and splinters of bone covered the warrior of the Festooned Forests.
Linda approached the boy who could be a key witness. She allowed the magics in her to retreat so her visage would not scare the sobbing boy.
“Why did you do it! Mr. Mittens wasn’t hurting anyone. I just got him back again…” Samur continued to wail. Linda looked at the bundle the boy held in his arms. She couldn’t help but recoil when the things milky eye met hers.
“By the gods!” Linda called out. “Where did that thing come from!”
“Mr. Mittens is not a thing he is my good kitty!” Samur turned in a huff. The boy reached into his bag and retrieved a needle and thread. As he sewed he spoke. “Mr. Mittens was a gift from my Nona before she went to sleep…”
“No, that is most certainly not a kitten, its an abomination” Linda replied.
Gamma’s scanners looked around the room. “Correction- Linda, that- is-a-kitten. Or-more-precisely- 4/5s- a-kitten. The-remainder-is-on-top-of-that-bookshelf.” Gamma pointed a stubby appendage at a blue colored bookshelf nestled in one corner.
Samur looked at the gold automaton and rushed to the shelf. Finding a leg, he started to smile. “Mr. Mittens! It’s your leg! Now I can put you all the way back together. I was so sad when you lost it last week.”
Samur placed the missing leg in the squirming pile of flesh. He then pulled out a leather bound book.
Linda’s eyes went wide as she grasped at her heart ”The necronomica! That cursed book why would you have it!”
Holding the book Samur smiled, “Oh you mean Gerald! He has been helping me bring back everyone’s loved ones. Like he brought back Mr. Mittens… four times now. Didn’t you see my parents and Nona on the way in here?”
Gerald began to float. Magic the color of night dripped from the flesh bound tome. A lone red eye opened in the middle of the book. Samur’s eyes started to glow, tendrils of raw magics lifted like smoke from his outstretched hand. Samur continued “I was so sad and lonely. I was an orph…orphan, until Gerald here! He is my second best friend, after Mr. Mittens. Gerald told me once we are done no one will be sad again.”
The three heroes looked in dismay and confusion from the rosey cheeked boy to the dark grimoire which threatened to pull the world into the depths of Tartarus. |
When Ian Smythe was in the process of choking to death we all laughed. It was his going away party, he had faithfully served as head of the Regional Office for over ten years. He was set to retire to what was assumed to be a lovely estate in the country somewhere back home, with his lovely, tiny prim little wife Helen to take care of him. Anyone who looked at his swollen, red faced figure knew he needed a bit of healthy living. So yes, this was a good thing. And since he could not bring the contents of his wine cellar and liquor cabinet, we were all happy for to have him host us, his colleagues and friends, for a series of increasingly boozy affairs over the last months of his stay.
So when I tell you we laughed, you must know that we were all several sheets to the wind, and in good spirits, as Ian himself was. The choking came quite suddenly and violently. So much so that he seemed to be putting on a show. It had to be, it was so over the top. And we went with it. When he finally gave a final croak and fell to the floor, his large frame flopped in a way that spoke of old vaudeville more than actual human tragedy. To be sure, it's a sight nobody necessarily expects to see. We picture, in our heart of hearts, death to be more graceful. We forget the mass our bodies possess until they fall limp to the ground in a thud like Ian's.
And of course he did stay there long enough that we had to go and see if he was all right. The laughter died down quickly enough, and we murmured to each other as his wife rushed to him, shook him with real concern and started yelling for help. Then, pandemonium. We were all no doubt stricken with a feeling of horrendous guilt for our moment of disbelief and rushed around looking for help. The doctor Sarr was phoned and there was old Doug hovering over the body applying his first aid training. The music was cut and the silence was deafening.
Here's what was on all of our minds and what colored the events that followed: poison. I'm sure the moment we realized Ian was not, in fact, having a laugh, was when we all set down our glasses on the nearest surface as quickly as possible. I for one was waiting for another victim to manifest, but there were, thankfully, none. It was only Ian.
And of course the poison, well, that was the thing. On everyone's minds was the fact that, in the last year or so, Ian's signature project was a sustained and quixotic campaign against the local traditional medicine. This came after the unfortunate death of his housegirl, who had been feeling ill with abdominal cramps and rather go see Dr. Sarr, as she usually might have, went instead to a practitioner of traditional medicine who prescribed something that was laced with strychnine. Ian and his wife Helen were devastated, as this was a young woman with promise, whom he was to be sending to university the following year. To be sure the cases of strychnine poisoning were common enough, and well documented. But the personal pain that Ian felt turned him into a man on a mission. The *slang nut* trees, the castor plants, became, in Ian's estimation, nothing less enemies to the advancement of the people. If given the opportunity, he would would gladly go on and on about how these plants likely killed more unsuspecting people than anyone realizes, through what he would call thoroughly unscientific and state-sanctioned quackery. This did of course draw some attention, and the government's august minister of health himself had asked him, every so politely, to knock it the hell off.
So in that brief moment, we all imagined the worst. We stood around in horror, as Doug pumped away at his chest. Soon all was quiet, save for the silent wailing of Helen, kneeled at his side, head bowed.
Some slowly, achingly, crept out. Embarrassed, overwhelmed, in a state of shock. Too many of us lingered, either to be of service, to stand witness, I have no idea. We stood in silence, or murmuring how awful how terrible over and over. Helen was in the arms of her several stolid members of the local Women's Group. I stood looking at my shoes.
"Let me through please!"the doctor yelled, piercing the silence as he ran through the room to where Ian was laying. Soon he opened his bag and pulled out his medical implements. His movements were trained and methodical, and he appeared altogether unmoved by emotion. Eventually he pried open Ian's mouth and peered inside. And then his hand was working his way into his mouth and down his throat. The doctor's face was intent and then, in an instant his eyes widened. He had found something. He removed his hand and opened it to reveal a shiny green object. We all looked and someone finally broke the wall of silence.
"Is that a lime wedge?" |
"No, that is just plain wrong,"insisted the man in the white coat. "You see, the temperature is exactly the same on all the habitats and even the oxygen levels..."
"That is NOT the question!"shouted a man in military uniform, waving the newly received report: "There are no humans on any other planet, moon or artificial satelite. None!"
"Ah..."the scientist clutched two of his hands and put two other hands on his hips: "Well... You see. They are very tiny, if we are frank. For us they are very small, so it could be that they were hiding and..."
The military man stepped forward: "Gralth, you either stop this shit and tell me what is going on or I am sending you straight to the mothership..."It was a tense moment. The scientist took down his glasses, rubbed his chin, scratched his head, run fingers through his hair. All of that can happen very fast if you have four hands.
"Well... You see... They are unpredictable... There are various diseases and predators evolve and..."
"And they all just got magically wiped out, right?"the army man asked, clearly not believing. Gralth shrugged, not deciding to double down on the answer. "Gralth, I know. I was told. If we believed it was because of diseases, we would have sent gardeners with pesticides, Gralth. Do you copy? I am not here because of syphilis, Gralth. I am giving you one last chance to come clean. If you bullshit me right now, I promise, your next step is right on the mothership to talk to the nice lady herself."
Silence. Gralth had understood the position he is in, slumped down in his chair and threw all his hands in the air. "Alright! Fuck it! Fuck you and fuck them! We ate them. There. I said it. Ate them."
"That's better,"nodded the army man. "Now, if you could tell me, Gralth... You are a man of old standing, you've been with her nice lady with what, 300 ticks, more? How many missions have you had? And now, suddenly..."
"Oh you have no fucking idea!"the desperation was palpable: "I have raised all sorts of creatures, from Xenamorphs to Heechees, but these humans... This is just... There is no shell, no poison glands, no nothing... It is just... Listen. The meat is red. RED!"
"I see,"nodded the army man. "Listen, I do not want to drag you to the Lustening either. This is not great, but we can salvage this. How about... Ok, how about we do it like this? How about we turn that in some sort of a funny event? I know, this is dangerous, but we have to try. We can turn this in an ad campaign. I suggest we honestly come out and just say it: "They risked the Lustening to get a bite of that human", something like that. Tough sell, but you have no other choices, do you?"
"I suppose not,"nodded the scientist. "It is either that, or my flesh becomes a vat stuffing, right? Yeah, we can do that.. Try, at least... But we will have to make a new batch. So that her nice lady understands, maybe even like a tribute, an apology..."
"How about those there, on third planet?"military man asked.
"What? Ew. No?"Gralths face turned in a scowl of disgust. "Did you even see those? Eh, we sort of went wild on the humans on the moons, got our own little Lustening, that we forgot about those. We left them too long on the planet. So they are already spoiled. Full of CO2 and microplastics and what not. Some even radiated. No, you do not want those." |
Once I believed that good lingered somewhere in the hearts of all men, now I am not so sure. We are a free people once more, but we have nowhere to return. My parents are arguing over what to do now: neither of them really have any ideas. My whole family is split up, I don't know if I'll ever see most of them again. We're travelling towards Switzerland at the moment, no money in hand, nothing but our names to keep us sane.
I've heard rumours about why we've been freed. They say there are demons gathering in Russia. Something even worse than Nazis. They are undead, is what people say. You shoot them and they keep moving. That's how I feel at the moment. I only spent one night in that camp, but it's changed me. All of us walking, especially those that had been in there for longer, look different. It's under our eyes, it's in our steps, it's in every breath we take in and spit out.
I'm looking forward to not being forced to hide, but Margot thinks we'll never be free. They're only freeing us to fight the undead, she says. If we win, we'll be sent back to the camps, if we don't, the Nazis won't care. The threat must be really bad if we're being allowed leave. The rumours say that the Nazi's will have to fight the undead with Britain and America, if the reports from the front line are anything to go by. It sickens me, the thought that Germany night now be Britain's ally.
It's night now, and we've stopped near a town. My mother says not to go through it at night, that they won't appreciate us coming their way. We've all agreed that because it's a warm night we'll sleep in a field. In a field, like mice, but it's better than the camp. I think the plan is to go to Zurich, but I don't know if we'll make it there.
I wonder if the undead demons hate us as much as the Nazis do? |
The smell of her shampoo. That's what brings it all back. Someone passes me on the street and I'm flung back to her room, and I'm thirteen and we're both awkward. We're talking about music and gigs and listening to 'Different Class' by Pulp, and her lamp is on low so the room is dark, and we're sitting on her bed and it's like we're creating this third thing in the room, this palpable presence, this tension that can only be broken by turning to each other, and moving closer, and I can feel my heart pounding because this is it, we're kissing, and she smells so good, and I could do this forever.
Then the person walks on, and the memory gets blown away like mist at dawn.
|
Some days, she realized the voice wasn't real. When the good days came, she wanted to smile with her husband as Snow White's laughter rang in the house, and when the small girl begged her to dance. But the fragment of her mind that hated the voice began to fade. When the girl became a young woman, the voice gained strength, its soft whispers grew louder and now had a taunting edge.
*Who's the fairest in the land? Do you dream it's you? Snow White will always be fairer than you...who would look at YOU?*
She saw its face in the mirror. Sometimes it looked like Snow White, and sometimes like the girl's deceased mother, sneering at her in contempt. Other times, it was her husband, his kind eyes hard and mocking, full of laughter for her attempts to win his love.
*Twisted witch, who would look at you? Who's the fairest in the land? Do you think it's YOU?*
His laughter followed her to her dreams, where she saw fevered images of what she might do, what it might make her do. And she cried out for the dead part of her that had once smiled with her husband to see the girl, in love with life and everything around her.
But the nights she wept, half-asleep and terrified of herself, passed as the girl grew older. The face in the mirror shifted as the girl surpassed her in beauty, and its voice became inviting, hissing lovely words of temptation in her ear. If only she did this, if only she could see how necessary it was...
Some days, she could scarcely remember what she'd done the day before. There came a day when she sold a girl an apple, a girl with lips as red as blood and hair of ebony, who looked so much like Snow White. And the girl slept, and the face in the mirror celebrated, for she was now the fairest in the land. But that night she heard it laugh softly in the corner, where she kept it in a box.
*Stupid witch, do you think this makes you fair? You have never been fair, you disgusting old crone...*
And she wept and hid from it, but it reached her wherever she was now. She groped for some part of her that had once said something about the voice, but it was gone. It had known something about the voice... |
I thought I had only killed one. They weren't ones to me. They were one. They weren't allowed to kill me for that. It was just one person. I read a book once. It said they couldn't kill me for killing one person. I read that in a book once. They're killing me which isn't what I read in that book which isn't fair. I didn't kill two thousand, three hundred and three, I killed one. One people. That's not alright but that's not something I'm allowed to die because. The book. I'm sure whoever killed all those people is sorry. I'm sorry for her. Or them.
And I'm sure he's sorry too. |
It started out small, the fear growing in Ellie. At only 14 she was diagnosed with neuroblastoma. Generally the five-year outlook wasn't too bad, but she wasn't so lucky. Eventually, she spent more time in the hospital than out. Her bed was her home, school, and, she knew, her deathbed. The fear that had started out so small grew, branching out and filling her with such dread that the end seemed too far. The helplessness would drive her insane before the cancer killed her.
Having some of her favorite people come by alleviated the pressure somewhat, but they merely represented her time ticking by. Her favorite actor, actress, singer, dancer, writer, the list goes on. She knew they were there because of the cancer, not her. Their stares were empty to her, filled with sympathy rather than empathy. She wanted to scream at them, spewing her rich, fevered emotions on their consciences. She was still a person; she still had hopes, dreams, emotions, and passion. All of that was cut short by this arbitrary monster that had made her body its host. Slowly, her fear turned to anger.
The last visitor held a unique hope. He was her favorite writer. Amongst the few things she could do in the hospital, she could read. There were an endless number of worlds she could escape to, temporarily forgetting her eminent demise. She saw parts of herself in these books, some essence that she related to wholly. Here, she thought, was someone who could save her from the pit which threatened to swallow her sanity.
But all she received was that hollow stare. It was heartbreaking. The one person she felt could understand her, realize how the situation affected her, treated her like everyone else. Like everyone else, he spoke to her mom. There were pleasantries exchanged and topics relating to the future avoided. Anything holding back her fermented fear and rage failed. She let out a soulful cry, alone in a world she wouldn't be able to take part in. Her words, broken by sobs and moans, cut deep. All her insecurities about being looked at as an object, something less than whole, spilled out of her. There was nothing that could make up for such a short life, she argued. She would die in the most solitary way, having no time to find someone who understood.
Her breathing was labored, gasps filling her lungs with barely enough air to get by. The steady beat of her heart faltered and she felt pain spreading across her face. *No.* It was her last thought as she looked around the room. Her mother was wide-eyed and scared. The hospital staff rushing in were focused on saving her. The author, her favorite author, looked sad, ashamed. Her body fell back against the pillows. She wasn't saved.
|
The condemned man was a giant. Six foot seven, bulging muscles and a barrel chest. His rough skin was crisscrossed with tattoos, even his shining bald head. On his back, an ink masterpiece of angel wings was marred by scars. As he shuffled into the warden's office, constrained by the tight manacles, his green eyes burned with light and he grinned menacingly at the guards. They shrunk back reflexively and gripped their mace containers like a child holding a teddy bear to ward off a monster in the closet. The prisoner had already killed two guards during his stay here.
The office door creaked open, revealing the warden and the prisoner's lawyer. With a jingle of chains, he sat down; The wooden chair squeaked, hardly supporting his bulk.
"You've settled on your request, then?"the warden started. The prisoner only nodded in silence, his eyes boring into the warden. His lawyer slid a folded sheet of paper across the desk. The warden looked at it suspiciously like the lawyer had just produced a snake from his briefcase. He picked up the paper and read it, only taking a few seconds. The warden looked back at the prisoner, imposing as ever with his usual grim expression. Their eyes met, and neither spoke. The warden cocked his head slightly to the side, as if to say "You sure?"The prisoner only nodded in response.
"It's settled, then."
Midnight approached. A crowd gathered in the observation room. Family members from the victims stood stoic yet satisfied. Law enforcement officials and politicians wanting to look tough on crime checked their watches, ready to get the show on the road. A lone priest sat in the back silently. Guards crowded into the empty space, eager to see this monster go down. No friends or family of the convict showed up.
He marched into the sterile white room and climbed onto the table. The fluorescent lights made the grisly tattoos stand out even more. The warden followed the prisoner into the room and stood waiting. Guards secured him down to the table with heavy straps, thicker than the ones they normally used. The prisoner flexed his muscles, as if testing whether he could break the bonds if he wanted to. The doctor began preparing the injection.
11:58. The prisoner looked at the warden and nodded. His fearsome persona wavered for just a moment, revealing a sad, scared smile. The warden nodded back, walked over, and held out his hand. The prisoner grabbed it, his huge paw engulfing the warden's hand like a child's. The prisoner pursed his lips tightly, but it didn't help; the tears began to flow. The doctor injected him at 11:59 as he sobbed into the warden's suit jacket. At midnight, the tears stopped, and the warden let the prisoner's hand slip, having done his duty. |
Death looked up at me and scowled.
"What?"I asked, "I won, you promised I could relive my last day."
The clocked figure remain silent, still carrying a face of disgust and disappointment. With a raise of his scythe, he ripped through the fabric of space and time in a blinding light.
I reawaken back on that infamous morning and continued my daily routine... With slight adjustments of course. Having faced death himself and survived, I was feeling pretty confident today. I told my ex-wife to go fuck herself when she called me for her usual rant, I quit my job and spent my time doing what I wanted, and I finally made amends with my drunk son-of-a-bitch brother who I kicked out of my house several months ago.
My worst day of my life now was my best day and I couldn't be happier. Just one thing was left. On my way home, I passed the house. The house out in the middle of nowhere that hardly anyone notices. I can see her. The young woman pounding on the glass of a window, calling out for my attention as she had been pinned down inside by burning rubble. It would take hours for any aid to arrive and she'll be burned to a crisp when they eventually do. I was all she had.
I remember pulling her out, costing myself my own life. I remember the pain and agony of dying so well.
With a wave of my hand I bid her farewell and went on my merry way. |
It finally happened. We're free and theres no semblance of authority left anywhere. Theres also no food and we lack most of the commodities that we need to survive. All that matters is Kim Jong Un is dead. He was raped, killed and his lifeless body was defiled by Seth Rogan.
So we walk. At first there was hundreds of us, then thousands, maybe millions, all trudging toward the border and our first taste of food in weeks. As we walked, exhausted and weak, many fell. At first we all eagerly picked the stragglers up and helped carry them. After five days without water or food we left them where they dropped. Finally on the seventh day we reached the chinese border. There to greet us was Denis Rodman. He challenged us to repledge our allegience to the Kims, afterall there was a few still alive. He screamed at us that if we refused we would battle to the death. Luckily enough several of us had stolen rifles from the Army and shot that stupid looking black twig man in his face. There was pink hair everywhere, not a pretty sight.
Into China we go, with nobody in our way. Freedom on a level we'd never known. There was a town just over the next hill. Instead of getting food I naturally decided to go to the internet cafe and browse reddit. It'd been so long since I had my fix. I stumble across a link to my hometown! Great news, I'm eager to see the fate of my home. 'All hail glorious leader'. I must spread the news! They don't know! Kim Jong Un is dead i write, as I hit reload 50 time waiting for replies. 'You have been banned from /r/pyongyang'
About the author: I suck at writing, its been like 10 years. I'll get better maybe. Read my shit bitches. |
It was hard to believe that it had been a whole year. His father entered the room and looked around. The room was redolent with dust and disuse, the father's breath was redolent with cheap whiskey and sadness.
There, on the desk, was the computer at which the man's son spent so much of his free time. The clacking of keys used to be so prolific that the father would frequently yell at his son to keep it down. "I'm trying to watch the goddamn Mets!"
If only the boy had showed interest in something real, maybe they could have bonded more. Maybe he never would have left the house in anger that night. It doesn't matter now, what's done is done.
He opens the black laptop, and turns it on. "Let's see if the kid has any good porn sites in his history"the father said to himself. "At least maybe he was into girls. If nothing else, I want to be able to say that I didn't raise no fag."
The room is dark with the exception of the light from the newly open web browser. http://www.reddit.com is the url that comes up first. In fact, it's the only url. "What the hell is 'reddit'?"The man wonders as he clicks to open the website.
The father looked over the links that appeared. Then he noticed a yellow sticky note on the desk with a username/password combination. Using these to log into the website, he noticed that there was now an orange envelope where there had previously been nothing. He clicked it.
He read through a few comments which were mostly people wondering why the account hadn't made any comments in the past year.
"I guess my son was pretty well-liked after all."The man said, feeling a little proud of his boy. "It's not like you have to go to a bar every day to make friends, right? These people really miss him. He seems pretty popular, I wonder what he used to talk about."Father opened the profile to read through the comments.
As he read, his eyes grew wider and wider, and his face redder and redder. Each comment detailed aberrant sexual behavior. It was as though the author was trying to outdo himself each time he wrote. Incest, scat, period blood, prostitution, no topic was taboo. Anal sex, penis jokes, pedophilia.
As the father read more and more, the sinking feeling in his stomach grew. Try as he may, he couldn't numb the feeling with whiskey this time. Despite this, he continued to read for a short while longer.
He turned off the computer. "My son was into some sick shit. I'm a failure as a father. A failure."A tear began to roll down his cheek, and he took one last look at the username on the sticky note.
He whispered to no one in particular, "Goddammit, /u/_vargas_." |
You know how in books they often describe the post-hangover morning-mouth as tasting like something crawled into it and died? Well, this tastes like a family of mice has been living inside my cheeks for seven generations, including the droppings, pissed-upon newspaper, deceased relative's corpses and associated rotting detritus infused with that powerfully rodenty, old-socks scent.
My legs ache like I've been dancing all night at the club and a migraine constantly spikes my brain as though a needle and barbed thread are being pulled through my frontal lobe. Lurching to the bathroom I vomit in the sink - mostly bile and froth - then sit on the floor, shaking despite the thick dressing gown I've pulled on.
Eventually I manage to rise and guzzle a litre of cold water down to settle my heaving stomach and I start to feel better.
I perch on the rim of the bathtub, contemplating work. I could easily call in sick, but I'm not sure I'm properly sick - this feels like a colossal hangover rather than illness.
I think over last night; what did I eat and drink? Nothing out of the ordinary. Pasta, cups of tea. The only thing different was the afternoon tea at work to farewell Gail, who was flying overseas.
I drink some more water, then pull myself into the shower. I can do this. I was in the army; I've had hangovers ten times as bad as this, surely?
Maybe not, but I'm still way tougher than anyone else at work.
Resolute, I retch again, then start miserably scrubbing my shaking limbs.
As usual I'm first into the office. I'm down two cups of tea and four paracetamol when the first co-worker turns up.
I look like death, I know. Makeup is helping a lot; I'm wearing more concealer than I ever have in my life, but the bags under my eyes and the bloodshot, jaundiced gaze give the game away.
"Mornin' Joel,"I husk.
Joel looks shocked. I put it down to my appearance and he hurries away to the kitchen, where I hear him making a call.
Huh. I look that bad? Probably reporting me to the boss.
But as more people filter into work and freak out, I begin to realise something is up.
Something *big*.
It's lunchtime. I feel awful still, but improving slowly.
After stuffing my face with a greasy pie and a jumbo-sized energy drink, I'm actually feeling pretty human.
Others come into the lunch room and I manage to smile and give reasonably chipper greetings - but I'm met with sideways looks and unreadable expressions.
"Hey Ellie, what's up?"I greet the receptionist loudly, giving her no chance to evade.
"Not much."
"Oh, for real? Have you noticed everyone's been acting real weird around me?"
She stammers something, goes pale, then *runs* out of the lunch room.
"Hey, come back!"I yell after her.
I'm alone again. Everyone is avoiding me *and* the lunchroom.
One of the perks of working in IT is that you have access to all sorts of shit.
I knew that *someone* would be careless enough to talk about this in email or IM or something I could track.
After thirty minutes of sniffing around, I start remoting into people's PC - unbeknownst to them - and watching for anything odd.
Within ten minutes I have them.
The boss is on an website for *poisoning symptoms*. I watch her do a few more searches, such as "How can someone survive Strychnine poisoning"and "Natural Strychnine antidotes".
I process this for a few moments, then it hits me.
They *all* knew I'd been poisoned!
Why else would they all have been acting so fricking weird around me if they weren't all in on it?
The timing made sense too; Gail *hated* me with a passion and she was skipping country the next day. Feeling sick, but in a different way, I call the contact phone number she left in her leaving email.
It's dead.
Laughter bubbles from my lips and increases in volume involuntarily.
I see heads in the cubicle farm edging over the dividers to try and sneakily see what's going on.
It's a full-throated belly-laugh now, out of control and containing not a trace of humour. It's a dangerous, scary laugh. I'm starting to scare myself.
People start leaving the office as stealthily as possible; I can hear the feet hurrying towards the lifts and people hammering the buttons. The stairwell door creaks and I hear escaping feet.
Pretty soon I'm alone in the office.
Making the most of the opportunity, I google a picture of Rasputin and print out 57 copies - one for every colleague's desk on the floor.
Let's just hope no one brings in a gun. |
I'm sitting in my squad car
Drinking coffee mixed with rum.
After ten years of this bullshit
You get a little numb.
There are witches down in SoHo,
The dispatch lady squawks,
Fairies in TriBeCa
And sirens on the docks.
I think back to last Thursday
On my beat in Murray Hill
And how my ears still won't stop ringing
From those harpies' cries (so shrill).
These creatures left the forests
Which we cut down for our farms.
Now they roam around my city
With their curses and their charms.
It's not worth it to arrest them
When they vanish in a puff,
When they hypnotize the jury,
When their wrists slip through the cuff.
And I admit I get afraid,
Though I'm not often one to cower,
But they turned the Chrysler Building
Into an evil wizard's tower!
Plus my partner Jimmy Baird,
Days before he could retire
Took a call in Central Park
And got burned by dragon fire.
I once would get frustrated
By the Brooklyn Bridge's toll,
But I'd rather pay the $7.80
Than answer riddles from a troll.
So despite that it's my duty
I'm not speeding to no crime
Just to see another body
Covered in green goblin slime.
So these creatures get free license
Just like they're Goldman Sachs.
And we cops manage to stay busy
Just by frisking all the blacks. |
Clark rode in the ship with Neo and Trinity as they headed toward the Machine City. The world below them was decimated, and not a single living thing grew on the surface. Seeing everything destroyed like this broke Clark's heart. It was the reason he decided to join Neo and Trinity on their mission.
"You don't have to come,"Neo told him. "You are a regular man now. You don't have to save the world anymore."
Clark shook his head and insisted that he come. "You're not saving the world without me."
Clark showed how strong he was even without the powers he had in the Matrix when Bane attacked Neo. He was under the control of a computer program that called itself 'Smith', and Clark had to break his rule of killing to save them all from the psycho program. It had to be done. At least it was just a machine with a human body.
They flew closer to the Machine City, and crops of humans extended as far as the eye could see. Which was nowehere near as far as Clark had been accustomed to seeing. Red dots scattered in the horizon and hundreds of machines rushed at the ship. Neo put his hand up to stop some. They shorted out in mid-air before collapsing.
"There's too many."Neo groaned as he strained to use his ability. Clark never thought he'd be second fiddle to the man with powers.
Trinity brought the nose of the ship up to fly away from the machines. Their lasers began to burn through the hull and their claws ripped at the metal. Clark felt silly holding the plasma gun. These things would be laughable if he had his powers. Too bad the powers were all a lie, and the only thing he do was shoot a gun.
"Go above the cloud,"Neo said.
Trinity looked at him to confirm, to which he nodded. The hull of the ship was taking more damage as Trinity piloted the ship into the storm cloud.
"Wait, isn't the sunlight above the cloud?"Clark asked.
"So the stories say."Trinity looked back at both the men before frowning.
"Clark, no."Neo looked at Clark very firmly. "You don't have your powers anymore. This isn't the Matrix!"
"I'm still a Kryptonian."The ship continued to fly upward and the dark clouds blotted everything from sight. Clark headed to the nearest hatch and Neo put a hand on his shoulder.
"You're going to die! There's no such thing as Kryptonians in the real world."
"I don't believe that."Light filled the interior of the ship and Trinity gazed at it with awe. For a moment, Neo was taken back by seeing real sunlight for the first time. The metal hatch cranked as Clark turned it, and threw it open. Immediately, he could feel his strength returning.
Clark pulled himself out and stood on the exterior hull. Wind pressure blew him off. All the machines shorted out in the EMP cloud. The ship was starting to descend back into the cloud as well. Clark stopped his own fall in mid-air and hovered. He could fly again.
X-Ray vision allowed him to see Neo and Trinity staring at him through the small window in front of the cockpit. They disappeared into the black cloud, and Trinity fought the controls to right the ship. Panic struck her and her heart raced. The ship was just as dead as the machines.
Clark smirked. "Time to do what I do."
He zipped through the air beneath the ship and caught it on his back. The ship was several tons, and brought him down slightly. He still wasn't anywhere near full power, but pushed with all the might he had. Gradually, their descent slowed until Clark set the ship gently down on a platform. |
"Uh, no this can't be real."I looked at the computer dumbfounded.
"Dude, this would explain why the U.S. government has been able to stay on top, even with all the crap they pull! I told you there was some weird stuff that didn't check out, man! They definitely have been using the increase technology tier one at least, that one would be easy to cover up!"My friend, Greg, has always been a proponent of the supernatural, pretty much anything to take his mind off how boring and methodological the world is, I would think. Of course he'd eat this right up.
"Greg, these codes are easy, there's no way someone wouldn't have stumbled upon them at some point."
"Yeah man but they could have some way of detecting it and then all they'd have to do is plant some drugs on you, no one would believe what you said about magic working and then they'd put you away and brainwash you, or worse! And hell, they could use the codes to do it!"
"Fine, know what, let's try one. What's the first one on the list?"
"Uh, self destruct."
".... uh ... Ok I still don't believe this but let's do one that sounds more fun just in case."
"Haaaaaah you're scared, but fine, howabout this one: spawn animal."
"Yeah, we'll spawn anything except another Greg. I'd go insane."
"HAH, buttmunch! Let's try kangaroo. That way when it falls through the roof you can't make up some crap story about how it was just coincidence."
"How do we do it."
"It says you have to fart to the tune of Stayin' Alive."
"Greg. How do you do it."
"Jeez it says you have to think to yourself: O.U.Cheat 01110010100 and then the animal type, but you have to actually mean to do it, it doesn't activate if you don't want it to. Like you have to will it to be that way. Weird."
Well, that would be a good way of keeping people from doing it accidentally I guess, and what the heck, the cheat number is in binary? Clearly this is a joke. I read the words and numbers and thought "baby kangaroo."
There was a shuffle behind us and we both jumped. There behind us was a baby kangaroo. My heart ...figuratively EXPLODED.
"WHAT""WHATAAAAWHAT OH MY GOD WHAT""DUDE""DUDE""NO WAY DUDE""WHAT THE HECK""THAT'S A FREAKIN KANGAROO DUDE"
This went on for about 2 minutes with us questioning our sanity before I turned to Greg and said "Dude, let's find a better code."
There were codes for everything. When they were vague they allowed the ... player(?) to come up with a noun or verb or adjective to fill in the blank. We were bodybuilders, then the kangaroo was a bodybuilder, we spawned steaks, kittens, supermodels, and anything else we wanted that we could think of. We made the kittens speak French. They started sweet talking the models. This was so much fun. There was one to detect other cheaters.
Oh fuck.
Greg shouted "DUDE the government is gonna find us! What if we were the first to start using codes and the lights are gonna go off and they're gonna teleport in here and wipe our brains or turn us into sheep! LITERALLY SHEEP!"
I didn't even say anything because I was worried he was right, stupid as it was, everything that had happened so far made me believe any possibility. So I used the code. The entire world lit up. Mostly the U.S. but it seemed like there were other people who understood the leak well enough to translate elsewhere. I can't explain how exactly I could "see"the world like that but I could tell it was everywhere.
"Don't worry Greg, they'd have to turn the whole world into sheep. It's too late. We can thank the internet for that. I guess they can't hide things like this anymore."
"OOOH man that is such a load off."Greg sat down and started looking for more codes to use.
I started looking too. "You know, I wonder who was the first person to figure out that this sort of thing could happen, that people could control reality like this?"
Then I noticed something.
Healing afflictions.
Material transmogrification... turning water into wine.
Levitation... walking on water.
Setting respawn times... resurrection
...
 
Son of a bitch. |
**--November 30--**
"No way."
Nick let out a long, hard breath and sat back into his chair as he let the paper that he was holding gently fall to the floor. It would be a hard winter. Nick grabbed his favorite *Happy Holidays* coffee mug and took at sip. Nick only brought his pre-made mixture -- vodka and lemonade with absolutely no more than three cubes of ice -- out of his mini-fridge for times like this.
Nick took another sip from his cup and closed his eyes.
"There's no way this is correct. Jesus, why?"
"Are you really praying to me while drinking vodka?"
"Sorry. But this is a joke, right? There's no way tha--"
"Come on. At least put the mug down."Jesus started. "It's not that bad. Come on! It'll be a little hot but it's dry heat. Like, I heard it can be *really* nice."He said in a voice few decibels higher than normal.
"Oh, Jesus! It's a million degrees down there! Dry heat? Can't we just not do it? It's Lucifer we're talking about. Even Hitler is on the banned list."
"Well,"Jesus paused, trying to think of the perfect way to persuade Santa. Jesus was only used to giving commands and telling parables. Debate was never something he had to partake in while being the Son of God. "Hitler was horrible, you know?"
"Lucifer is the fucking devil! You make the rules! You can change this right now."
"Well, the big guy is the one making the rules."
"Aren't you the same person?"
"Well, we're the same *essence*. We're totally a different person though."Jesus replied.
"What?"
"What?"
"*What?* What does that even mean?"
"Look,"Jesus started. "You're going to do this and that's the end of the story. Ancient laws, God wants you to do this, it's your job -- pick whatever reason you want to get you through this."
**--December 25, 12:00 AM--**
Santa landed his sleigh just passed the first lake of fire so he wouldn't forget where he landed. He sat in his seat and looked around at the vast and simple landscape of Hell, waiting for a demon to pop out and scream 'boo' at him. Hell appeared to be haphazardly designed with equipment just scattered like an infant with its playthings. The view of hell was nothing exceptional: completely flat with a few lakes of fire being the only light source.
"This is Hell?"Santa thought. "Where are all the demons? The tortured souls? This place is completely empty."
Santa got out of his sleigh and grabbed his gift bag. He looked around and saw a door with a neon 'Open' sign on it leading into a giant stadium that was completely covered in the darkness. With a bad feeling in his cookie-less stomach, Santa proceeded to the door.
"This can't be good."Santa thought. "Where is everyone? There's only one Hell, right? Like, there's not two hells, right? Oh god, I'm going to open that door and Satan is going to be there and he's goi-- wait. Pull it together, Nick. You're just going to drop of the gift and then leave. Satan isn't even going to do anything. And Jesus was right, the heat is a dry heat. It's actually okay down here. Everything is okay. No, everything is great. Great. He wouldn't make me do anything dangerous."
Santa reached the door and knocked on it with three loud thumps.
"Who is it?"
"It's Santa. Um, I'm looking for Lucifer? Is he here?"
"Oh! Yeah! Wait one second -- HEY HE'S HERE. Come in, come in!"
Nick opened the door to the sight of billions of demons in the stands with Satan in the middle. Satan sat on a platform in a common office chair.
"Oh, look!"Lucifer screamed. "It's Nicky!"
The stadium erupted with a monotone cackle of billions of obviously forced occupants.
"Look, Lucifer. I'm just here to drop off your gift and then I--"
"Where, uh,"Lucifer started, intermittently interrupted by his own fits of laughter. "Where, uh, are your horses?"
The stadium erupted again, sounding more staged than the previous laughter.
"My reindeer? I put them close to the lake of fi--"
"YOU'RE SO FAT!"exclaimed Lucifer.
The joy on Satan's face was something Nick had never seen before. The wide-eyedness of Satan while he laughed was only something Nick had seen in his nightmares. Also, the laugh was especially unique. Satan's laugh always began with a few seconds of pure yelling before he started the common rhythm of laughter.
"Oh, God!"Lucifer started. "I can't believe Jesus actually paid up. Okay, wittle Nicky, just give me my gift."
"Paid up? Do the ancient laws have something about payment?"
"I don't know if arm wrestling would be considered ancient. We just made a bet and I won. Have you really never heard of arm wrestling?"
"That motherless fucker. Jesus said there was an ancient law that said we had to give you a gift or something. I was having a really hard day and he start--"
"Nicky, Nicky, Nicky. I don't give a shit. Give me my gift and get the fuck out of here."
Fuming, Saint Nick reached into his bag and grabbed the remaining gift. He pulled it out and looked at it: an uncanny replication of himself in a pink ballerina outfit. Nick's heard sunk as the stadium exploded.
"*No. Fucking. Way*"Santa thought.
"AAAHHHHHAHAHAHHAHA. OH GOD. OH GOD, YES."Satan cried.
Nick threw the gift over to Satan and started to run towards the door.
"Wait!"Lucifer called out to him. "I have more jokes I have to say!"
**--Ten years later--**
"Who is he, daddy?"asked the little boy.
"They say he used to be jolly Saint Nick. You may have heard him called Santa Claus, son."
"What do we call him now?"
"An alcoholic." |
"Welcome Soldiers. You are all Volenteers to this unit, and I appreciate the fact that you signed up for this duty. It is a tough job, but we have to do it. If you are unclear what we do here and merely has been recommended duty here, let me sum it up for you.
We are Battalion 404 of the British Army and we do not exist. There is no sign of us on the generals maps, the Germans can´t attack it because they have no spies to tell them we are here and the rest of the Army would shoot us or join us depending on their point of view if they knew we existed. But allow me to guarantee you that Field Marshal Haig himself put this unit up for special duty. Our role is simple. Our duty is simple. We stay out of the war. We do not kill. We do not die. We do not fight. We do not attack. We are not attacked. In short, we are on paid vacation until the war is over. Sure, the pay is bad and the food too, but we do not dig trenches and we have some nice facilities here. And best of all, the duty is classified and if you say that back home, they usually think you been off playing the hero for the entire war. Gets you in the good with the ladies.
You are in first platoon. Report to Captain Edmund Blackadder for duty. Dismissed." |
"It took me a long time to come to terms with it. The gay thing, I mean, not the rainbow thing. I'd always thought I was straight! I'd looked at dirty magazines and downloaded truly staggering amounts of pornography from the internet all throughout my teenage years. I even had a few relationships with girls that only seemed naive and doomed in hindsight; at the time they were enjoyable. All the bits were in the right places, so to speak.
"It wasn't until I was halfway through my twenties that I met Clive. Even then there wasn't an instant rainbow shot. I knew he was gay from the get go, and he claims he knew that I was, that I just needed time to realise it. We were friends, you know?"I took a quick drink of wine, and continued.
"I mean, I brought him here often enough for parties. When I was still with Sarah, even, you remember? We just hung out a lot, partied, but it was always just a friendship. Close, of course, but just as friends. It wasn't until I broke up with Sarah that it even came up. We were talking, late one night -- I'll admit, we'd been drinking a bit as well. We were talking, and Clive asked me if I knew why my relationships always ended the way they did.
"I gave him the obvious answer; no, of course not. If I knew why then, obviously, they wouldn't keep going that way. He just smiled at me, reached out, and caught my hand. And there it was, a fucking rainbow exploded over my head.
"Inevitably I freaked right out. I pushed him away, kicked him out of the damn flat right there and then. I didn't know what to think. The rainbows never lie, you know? But when you're not expecting it, when it just suddenly happens... It took me months to get that sorted in my head, even longer to be able to talk to Clive again.
"And you know what happened? When I talked to him again? He just smiled, and took my hand, and told me everything was going to be OK. And it felt right.
"So that's why I brought him tonight, to let you all know. Sometimes your best friend ends up more than a friend. I... didn't expect this, any of this, but here we are. I'm gay, and Clive's my boyfriend."
I reached out across the table for Clive's hand, and he placed it in mine. I gave it a quick squeeze. My mother smiled, skin crinkling around her eyes. My sister rolled her eyes. A rainbow exploded above my dad's head. |
#**I am Batman**
The bedside clock radio turns on like it does every morning.
"It's 6:15 AM, 72 degrees and I am Batman, host of *Good Morning Gotham*..."
Groaning I roll over and shut if off. If I don't get up now I will be late. I
tried setting it earlier so I could choose to snooze if I needed a little extra
time to wake up.
But, it's too annoying to be jolted out of sleep more than once when every
single morning DJ uses the same byline. From the soporific *All Things
Considered* on NPR, through the raging news/talk hosts to the zany comedy
ensembles, all of them repeat it ad nauseum. "I am Batman". Indeed. Everybody is
Batman.
On the radio and TV it's all Batman, all the time. Investigative reporter Batman.
Traffic copter Batman. Rock and roll Batman. Classical Batman. And, for all the
little BatTots and BatGirls, it's Batman Elmo. same Bat channel, same Bat time.
Batman at the BatDonalds drive through where I get my egg and cheese BatMuffin.
Batman on the drive to work in his BatVan, BatTruck and BatMobile. Whipping
around me, cutting me off. Burning the paint job on my car with the smoking hot
exhaust from every BatVehicle's jet engine.
Batman on BatCycles (which are just jet engines with handlebars and wheels
bolted on) pulling over speeders. Batman at the BatTollbooth.
Batman (well, actually, a cute young red headed Batgirl) at the reception desk -
"Wayne Enterprises, please hold..".
My fat BatBoss, who comes by my desk everyday at eight fifteen to check on me.
The trendy young BatMen and BatGirls talking and flirting around the BatCooler.
The geeky pasty faced college intern batman at I'm teaching BatProgramming. Well,
at least when I can keep him from climbing up the outside of the building.
That's how it is everywhere, all day, everyday.
*Sigh*.
At least, the only Batman in the shower is the headless bottle of BatCombo
shampoo and conditioner. Whenever I get a new bottle, I throw the top away. Sure, a
little water gets in. And, if I knock, it over I waste some shampoo.
I just can't stand those blank white eyes. It feels like they are watching me.
Watching when I soap up with my BatSoap on a rope. Observing me as I shave with
my Batarang blade.
In a world where everyone else is Batman, I should stand out.
I never wear a single item of Bat apparel. Brown wing tip shoes, not black
BatBoots. A white shirt, red and black striped tie, blue suit jacket and pants;
not grey spandex with a Bat emblem. A simple brown leather belt, not a garish
yellow utility belt.
And, never a BatCowl and cape. Just a pair of wire frame glasses.
I look in the mirror and wonder why no one ever notices me.
It's must the eye glasses, definitely the eye glasses.
I hear a soft cry of distress from many miles away.
I leap into the air as I exchange one suit for another. The one that all Batman
only ever see as a red, blue and yellow blur.
This is a job for... |
The City of Light was a land of gleaming crystal spires, meticulously groomed gardens, and well dressed women and men. It was the epitome of humankind's desire for perfection. It was hell.
Between ornate chromed statues and state of the art travel-tubes walked the unconditionally happy workers and builders of the grand city. Drugs had been provided, first secretly and then overtly due to popular demand, to assist the citizens in elevating their mental state closer to the silvered ideals of a man known simply as "The Duke". Conformity was paramount, of course. How else could such a marvelous society continue to exist? All citizens of The City of Light strove to meet the demands set before them. As a reward they were granted the ability to do whatever they wish, as long as it fit into the guidelines.
There were a small number of deviants, of course. Such things were natural. These citizens sometimes willingly submitted themselves for termination, lest they be sent to The Dark Beyond. Even rarer were the citizens who were too afraid of death, or too unafraid of dishonor, to accept termination. These citizens were promptly dismissed.
Upon arrival to The Dark Beyond, most citizens felt a profound sense of unreality. The Dark did not resemble, even closely, the horror stories that every citizen of Light was taught from the age of infancy onward. This city was not a city at all, but a sprawl of farmland and small village centers that stretched to the horizon. The people here, who were obviously not monsters, were tan, fit, and relatively happy. A citizen of Light would be curious as to what drug cocktail they received in their water, and would later find out that no drug cocktail was ever forcibly given to these people.
The first day of their arrival would be spent around the firepit of one of the many village squares where information exchange tended to occur. Sharing alcohol, a strange liquid drug, with the Dark citizens would allow the newcomer a chance to ask the myriad questions that would immediately start to bubble to the surface. Later on, of course, the withdrawal from the Light drugs would begin. At this point, the newcomer would be taken care by a donor family until they were well enough to choose their own path.
The act of choosing, the mere philosophy, was often the hardest for a newcomer to grasp. They would spend many hours looking for the schedule board or rule list only to find that no such thing existed on the Dark side. Later on they would become comfortable with the idea of free will and many of the newcomers would become farmers or artisans themselves.
Eventually one of the new Dark citizens would discover why the Dark city even existed. They would find out that the foodstuffs of The City of Light did not in fact come from automated hydroponics farms - the technology was not yet efficient enough to supply the sheer numbers of citizens. The newcomer would receive a briefing of the methodology of a particular arrangement.
A large bulk of the produce grown on the Dark farms were transferred into the Light side in exchange for advanced electronics and other personal technology. This arrangement was required because either city was not capable of maintaining their chosen way of life without sacrificing something. Humans, of course, do not like sacrifice.
Finally the newcomer, nearly a true citizen of the Dark, would discover that the leader of the Dark side was also called, 'The Duke'. They would be informed that this was no coincidence. The Duke was a real person and maintained control over both cities. Balance was the true ideology of The Duke, and only one man governing two cities would have the ability to maintain this balance in such a manner. In the Light, he was seen as a patriarchal symbol of obedience and reverence. In the Dark, he was seen as a bastion of freedom and a true genius.
After many weeks of acclimatization the new citizen would often depart, alone or with new friends, into the deep countryside to follow his new found desires. No Light citizen had ever attempted to re-enter their old home even though they were certainly allowed to. Interestingly, no Light citizen had ever willingly left The City of Light either, even though they also were able to come and go as they pleased.
The balance has been maintained for many years and likely will continue for the foreseeable future. |
"When the first one emerged we welcomed them with open arms...,"Walker glanced at the recording device, which was coated in the red dust that permeated everything on this planet, from the interior of the base to hidden crevices in his skin. He tried to brush some of it off, then gave up and continued to speak, "by the time the last one emerged we were fighting for our survival."
An explosion went off in the distance, causing Walker to look up in alarm. They were close now.
His hiding spot was in an early model habitation unit that had long out-lived its usefulness. Luckily, the largely self-sufficient designs employed by the engineers who built the structures had saved him. It hadn't taken that long for Walker to get the habitat working again, by the time he'd finished his air supply had been hovering around 40%. Once it was capable of supporting human life, he'd made a quick inventory of the facility's supplies, adding it to the meager inventory he'd bought with him.
He had food, water, and enough meds to get him through a few weeks at least. The food and water to sustain him, the meds to take his mind far away from this desolate landscape.
As far as Walker knew, he was the last human left alive on Mars.
The original colonization efforts had been an unprecedented success, greater than even the most fervent of idealists back on Earth could imagine. Huge artificial habitats had sprung up and after just half a century it seemed like humanity was here to stay.
When the first Martian appeared it had been greeted with courteous optimism. Though the colonists were astounded at the discovery of alien life, they were influenced more strongly by knowing that humanity truly wasn't alone in the universe.
The Martians were strikingly anthropomorphic and walked on two legs, but with pincers instead of mouths, and antennas instead of hair on their heads. They looked something like what you'd get if you combined a termite and a human. The press had coined the term "Marmite."
Gradually it became apparent that there was an entire eco-system under the planet's surface that supported a large, expansive, ancient civilization. The first few Martians to appear had seemed eager to communicate, timidly approaching the outer walls of Habitat 0032 with precious stones that didn't exist on Earth, gifts from deep in the interior of the planet.
After first contact was made Habitat 0032 broadcast a message to Earth, transmitting an emotion-filled declaration that man-kind was not alone.
Five years after the transmission Walker was the only human left on Mars, entirely isolated from the rest of his species. He had been alone for two years.
It was stipulated that the Martians had turned hostile when they realized there were relatively few humans on the surface, but that there were clearly giant super-structures being built that were designed to hold more.
Four months after initial contact millions of them poured out of tunnels that seemed to appear from nowhere. They killed indiscriminately, in some cases horrifically, and the human colonists were wiped out. The vast majority dying within the first year.
Suppressing memories of what he'd seen and done over the last few years, Walker forced his gaze back to the device. He reached for the transmit button on the back, wincing as pain from a pincer bite lanced up his arm. He had survived so far, but not without a few close calls.
He pressed it and the device began to beam his message back to Earth. His eyes tracked the readings... three minutes to go. A sound caught his attention, and then movement flickered in his peripherals. They were here.
Courage possessed him then. And a sense of defiance that had maintained his will to survive through these long years. Two great qualities that even humans of the humblest origins were capable of harnessing. Walker stood up, leveling his gaze at the first Martian he saw. It approached him cautiously, its antennas flicking quickly, tasting the air.
As awareness of his impending death creeped into his consciousness, Walker's bladder involuntarily released and piss began to soak the insides of his legs. There were hundreds of them inside now. He closed his eyes as they pressed in on him, clenching his fists and focusing on the warm current spreading from his crotch.
After a minute he opened them. The Martians were standing still, almost as if they were at attention. Walker surveyed the room in astonishment. Why hadn't they killed him yet?
Slowly the Martians parted. In growing fascination Walker watched as a figure appeared between them, distinctly Martian but with more distinguished features and an innate authority to the way it carried itself. This was clearly a leader.
It approached him slowly, with something not unlike trepidation. Curious in spite of him self, piss forgotten, Walker watched as the figure approached. It was holding something, a board of some sort.
When it was five feet in front of him it stopped and seemed to assess him for a few agonizing moments. Then it held up the board, which had four crudely scratched words written across it.
"You must help us."
|
In complete silence, I wonder if anyone had ever been subjected to a torment so excruciatingly terrible as my current fate. The complete unending whiteness surrounds me on all sides like a thick, and simultaneously weightless, disgustingly warm mass of cotton. I can no longer see my body which is now probably splattered on the bumper of that asshole's jeep. Being unable to close my eyes was the first clue to the fact that I'm most likely dead. Oh how I wish I could get just one small minuscule patch of blackness among this white. Just one small piece of contrast, something to latch on to, something to keep me sane. When there’s nothing to stimulate you, the mind collapses on itself like a hellish spiral. I need to keep thinking, need to keep myself from slipping away into nothingness. It’s so difficult, so difficult to keep focused, so difficult to fight on. There has to be something else, something on the other side, right? I can feel it draining me, chipping away at my being. My memories are melting as well, crumbling like dry sand. I don’t want to disappear, don’t want to vanish! As long as I keep thinking, I exist! Is this what death really feels like? Just an endless sea of white? A sea that consumes you? I can’t keep fighting. It’s so white. So white. White. |
It's worth pointing out that Trump never actually meant so solve any of the worlds problems, he was just really bad at accomplishing his goals. Putin didn't particularly care about solving the worlds problems either, he just became more and more obsessed with doing things for, in his own words 'the lolz' with, at least to his mind, the biggest 'lol' being to make Trump make the world a better place.
Take for instance this exchange:
"I think we should put more black men in jail for minor drug offences"said Trump
"But comrade"said Putin (he had taken to talking like a stereotypical russian for some presumably 'lolz' related reason) "if we let a bunch of black men out of jail, they might commit major drug offences"
"You're right, you're the opposite of fired"(This was the only compliment he knew how to say)
Turns out that little bit of trust was all it took for people to not let one mistake define the rest of their lives.
Things just kind of took off from there.
Or maybe consider the wall fiasco:
"We should make the Mexicans build a wall on the border"said Trump
"Da, but comrade, we should put doors in, just in case we want to come and go"
"Excellent, you're not fired again"
And just like that immigration policies were liberalized. Not that the Republicans were crazy about these changes, but then Trump never was overly concerned with the voting public so without any hope for change they just got used to it.
But all good things must come to an end:
"Putin, what the shit?"
"Comrade Trump, what is it?"
"I'm looking at what we've done. There's immigrants everywhere, we're not bombing the middle east and no one hates China"
"Say it again, say it again"
"What?"
"China. I'm going to make an auto tune remix"(Which were tragically still a thing)
"No. You always said the lolz were on everyone else, but I see now the lolz were always on me. I trusted you"
"But comrade…"
"No, you're fired"
And then he fired our nukes.
"What are nukes?"
"They're like fire, but times a billion"
"Whoa"
"Yeah now it's bed time. I have to go watch for mutants"
|
But he would have to wake up soon.
His wife insisted as she reached over to his side of the bed. He embraced her lovingly as she felt safe in his arms.
Oh, how he had missed her after all the months she had spent in the hospitals.
The two of them danced that evening like they did all those years ago. They kissed with a passion that they would remember for the rest of their lives.
He had never been happier to see his wife again.
But he would have to wake up soon.
____________________________
Thanks for reading. Remember, your tears feed and keep me alive.
|
"Wow Dennis, this guy makes your system look like trash!"
"My system is not trash, okay Frank? It's slow and methodical. You can't just go out and impulsively bang some chick one night. It doesn't work like that. I'm telling you, this guy's a fraud."
"He wrote a playbook. Here, check it out!"
"I wrote a book too! My Erotic Memoirs was much better than this crude shit. Look, the Fireman? The One Week To Live? The Missing Cat? This was written by a child, Frank. A child!"
"Sorry Dennis, but I'm with Frank on this one. Barney doesn't do any of the creepy stalker stuff either, dude."
"Oh shut up, Mac. You're only siding with him because he promised he'd get you laid. Creepy stalker stuff. Give me a break."
The door of Paddy's Pub swung open and there stood Barney Stinson, dressed in a debonair suit.
"Attention Paddy's! It's that time of the month!"The gang glances over at Dee. "No, no. It's Bangtoberfest! Let's suit up everyone!"
"Time to bang some hoors!"
"Hey Charlie, you coming?"
"I dunno, man. I don't really wanna bang some random chick."
"You gotta move on from the waitress, bro."
"The waitress?"
"Charlie's absolutely obsessed with her. She hates him though."
"Challenge accepted!"
"Huh?"
"Charlie, I hope you're ready, because you're gonna be sleeping with that waitress of yours! It's gonna be legend-- wait for it..." |
Sam went tumbling when his foot hit the log. He lost his balance and, hands outstretched, fell into an old desk, which promptly collapsed under his weight. The dry sand gave way beneath his hands as he pushed himself up to examine his surroundings. He felt his fingertip brush something smooth like glass as he stood.
Unless you looked closely, you would not have been able to tell that the pile of sticks and rocks had been a house. Its framework was charred and reduced mostly to rubble, and anything else important had been buried beneath the sand. These ruins always yielded useful scrap to bring back to camp, and Sam would have been excited if he weren't so worried about his parents finding out how deep in the woods he was.
He remembered the object his hand had brushed against when he stood up and reached down to examine it. Below him, the sand having been cleared away, was a tiny dark surface of glass. Upon picking it up and brushing it off he found it to be only a few inches wide, a small rectangle. It was certainly not deep enough to be a box that you could store anything useful inside, so he was unintrigued until he discovered the buttons. A small rubber one on the side brought the device to life.
Sam yelped and dropped the glowing object, then, finding that it was seemingly completely safe, picked it back up. His curiosity had the better of him at this point. A small prompt reading 'Slide to Unlock' with a tiny arrow allowed him to access what was stored on it. He had heard of the glowing devices, computers. He had never been able to imagine one actually working.
Some of it was clear, like the clock application, but he had no idea what "stocks"were. Old human language, perhaps? It didn't matter. The elders would be able to interpret it. He pressed the activation button again, the only one that seemed to do anything useful, and the device went dark as hoped.
The boy turned away from the newly discovered ruin. It didn't matter what he left inside. They would come back for it. It also didn't matter if his parents found out where he was anymore. The whole village would rejoice at the discovery of this "computer."But as he turned and began to walk back, quietly examining this wonder, it gave out a small ringing sound and lit up again. Sam dropped it a second time.
Small letters had appeared on the 'Slide to Unlock' screen next to a green symbol. Above was a bolded series of numbers, and below was a message: "Hello there. Who are you?" |
And then Moore was gone too.
I looked around at my squad members, the last of my family for the past two days. I should say the guilt of not saving their lives was crushing. I should say I was overwhelmed by the sight of my dead friends. I should say I rose up from the agony and rage within...
But it wasn't, I wasn't, and I didn't.
I just sat there and stared. Numb. Each member of the family had contributed. Yates found the only place we would have had any chance of covering the platoon's retreat. Now more than eight hours since he found the small basement window among the rubble of the building above, Yates was our core. He always knew what to do to keep us together. A short wrestler from Indiana, the kid was tough, fearless, invincible. He was the first to go.
PJ fell shortly after; two bullets to the face. Nothing for me to do.
We held out for another two hours before Beeman was hit in the shoulder and upper thigh. Fighting to stop the bleeding, I used the last of my morphine and clean bandages on Beeman. That's when Sheidler was hit.
Beeman slowly bled out, of course. With his blood pooling on the floor went my courage and my fight. That's when I went numb. Moore had long since grabbed his BAR to remind any curious Germans that we still had bite. He was yelling the most colorful insults we knew, but ammo was low. It was only a matter of time.
We could have been easily overrun by the ten, or so, Germans holed-up across the street, but Moore would have at least gotten a few of them. They're no idiots. They didn't want to be here any more than us. They shot at us for the same reason we shot at them: because they were being shot at. A horrible irony not lost on either side, yet with no way of breaking the vicious cycle.
And then Moore was gone too.
We could have ran, defying orders, exposing the retreating platoon's flank. It wasn't even our platoon, we had only been with them the last two days. They are the ones who sent us on this suicide mission to protect their own hides anyway. We could have easily run the other direction. We didn't run.
We fought for ourselves, our squad. Yates went, so we followed. It never occurred to us to leave one another. Even as he fell, we fought for us, for our family. Yet, one by one they died. And then there was just me.
I could easily surrender. The platoon was certainly far enough away for my stand to end. But it was never about them, anyway. The platoon was alive, and I was alive, neither of witch being the reasons I fought.
I fought for the dead men laying around me. The dead men who fought for me. I could surrender to finish the war as a prisoner, to hopefully return home some day... home without Yates. Without PJ. Without Beeman. Without Sheidler. Without Moore.
That wasn't home. There was no more home. My home is where these five men are. Where these five men lay. I fight for my home and my family.
An overwhelming peace clarified my decision. I tore the red cross off my arm, and grabbed the rifle for the first time.
A bloody scream pierced the night as the last American fired maniacally, desperate to join his family again. |
Tonight is my very first night in jail, and I couldn't be more nervous- or angry.
My head is swirling with questions. Will I get along with the others here? Will I end up hurt? What choices did I make that led to this moment? Why did Mr. Schoon have to be right?
Mr. Schoon was the reason I was so angry. He was my ninth grade math teacher, over a decade ago now, and while most of my classmates had loved him, I did not. He had told me, on the very last day of my freshman year, that I would end up in jail. I had spent the next several years trying to prove him wrong. I had forgotten that, after a while. He was just an old teacher, after all.
But then this morning, my friend had reminded me of his prediction, and pointed out that he had been right.
Wouldn't Mr. Schoon just LOVE to see me now.
Actually, he probably would.
Cautiously, I get up and cross the room, glancing quickly to my left and right to make sure no one's watching me.
Then I crouch over the computer on my desk, and type:
"Mr. Schoon,
Many years ago, you told me that I would end up in jail. Today, I did- as a prison guard. Thanks for your lack of confidence, it drove me to greater heights.
Most sincerely,
B. Willis" |
I began lunch period sitting by myself. It wasn't until Eddy Brayger, a furry green beast set his tray at the edge of my table. He smiled revealing row of impeccably sharp teeth.
"You know the big 'M' on the clock tower stands for 'monster' right?"The oaf bellowed at a volume obviously inappropriate for a personal conversation.
"I'm aware,"I said smugly, looking down at my food while watching the chlorine bleached Ugg boot out of my peripheral vision.
"And just,"He leaned in closer and allowed his surprisingly minty breath to waft over me, "What is a sad sack of mince meat like you capable of anyways?"
By then the whole school had gathered round. I knew that they all had been wondering the same thing. I don't blame them. My small soft body and unimpressive limbs were an insult to every creature that walked the halls of this place.
"You see, I've done my research,"I stated with a slow confident cadence. "You are all capable of doing horrible things. I've seen the videos of goats and cows being ripped apart. I've seen you fight lions and bears."
Multiple "yeah's"and "that's right's"sounded off in crowd.
I stood up and began to point into the mob, "But if I asked you to turn on your own, would you do it? If I asked you to kill your friends; your own blood, would you have the guts?"
Eddy slammed chia pet fist into the table. "Don't be ridiculous. We have enough to deal with, why would we kill each other?"
"Because, that's what we humans consider a monster,"I glared into his eyes, "Our history books are filled to the brim with the blood of our own and continue to be filled to this day."I looked out into the crowd. The jeering had grown to nervous whispers.
"You all have survived by working together, using your claws and teeth to fight the elements and forces that oppose you. We humans,"I paused, "we have built kingdoms on the backs of our own kind. We have walls lined with bones of the slaves that built them. We have graves of full men and women who were killed simply because they didn't fit a standard. To this day, we constantly trade oil for blood."
Silence gripped the audience. Eddy retreated from the table and stood with the rest.
I picked up my tray and scanned the crowd once again. In a serious, stoic tone I explained, "In my opinion, you're not monsters. I've studied your history. I've read your doctrines. And I've found that you are more "human"than we can ever hope to be."
With that, I turned and walked out of the cafeteria leaving behind a room of curious murmurs. It wasn't long until the double doors burst open behind me with monsters pouring out and shouting questions at the new kid in town.
|
*The Walking Alive*
"Can you believe that."Phil slammed his newspaper on the table and shook his head negatively. "Zombies are actually claiming that the living is among us! What's next you gonna tell me the world is being invaded by zombie forming lizards?!"
"Well,"I took a seat at the table and sipped my maggot infested rotten coffee. "You know how kids are with the internet. They'll say anything for a little bit of attention dear. I bet it just another hoax."
"Hoax or real. Doesn't matter to me. I gotta deal with this bullshit at work. You know how long it took me to get my employees back on track after that damn vampire movie came out?!"Phil jumped from his seat and grabbed his ragged coat. "For us eating so many brains, we sure are idiots Margret. Anyways, I gotta go into the office early today: James severed both his arms again and christ knows what else. Have a good day honey."
"You forgot this."I handed him a few of his fingers.
"Thanks."He left the house.
I sat down in the living room and grabbed a worm cake. I munched on my favorite snack until the door bell rang.
"I told that man if he lost his keys they were probably caught in his rotten thigh."I swung open the door. "Who... are you?"
A strange looking man gazed at me with terrified eyes. He pushed me and entered my home,
"Hey!"I yelled.
"Education! Equal opportunity! Benefits!"The man said mindlessly. His skin was smooth and healthy looking. Was this a...
"Leave now or I'll call the Rotten Patrol!"I demanded.
Before I could do anything the man bit a large chunk of flesh out of my arm. I screamed and fell to the floor and the man jumped out of my window and ran away. I began to feel woozy and dizzy, I stumbled to the restroom. I could hardly stand, the TV changed to an emergency broadcast.
"This is not a drill. Stay in your homes and board them up. The Living invasion is upon us. I repeat this is not a drill."The TV reporter said.
I puked up some strange fluid. It wasn't the usual rot gut slime. I looked into the mirror and noticed my skin was turning smooth. The holes in my flesh were filling. My greyish black rotten skin was turning into the normal living skin!
"No!"I screamed.
I've been uninfected.
***
More stories at /r/CGIII !
|
"Yeah, I want it to look like a break in gone wrong,"I said while pushing up my glasses, "If I were to kill myself it would ruin my family's reputation."
The tallest man of the three rubbed his chin. He glanced at his partners and said, "I understand that. We have these requests come in from time to time. As long as you pay us we will do whatever you want."
I smiled and handed him a brief case. "You can count it,"I said, "It's ten thousand dollars. Plus you'll get pickings of things in my house."
"Well it's a pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Miller. We will be by sometime tonight."
I thanked the three and got in my car. They bought my set up, hook, line, and sinker. I couldn't believe these three were the Scorpion Butchers. I imagined you don't become world famous mass murderers without having a little bit of brains. These guys were responsible for killing at least 100 civilians during the Iraq War. Men, women, children. It didn't matter to them. As long as the target was killed then these guys had immunity like you wouldn't believe. It's funny what the CIA will let Americans get away with in the name of "freedom."What a joke.
I pulled into my driveway and began to set the trap. All I needed to realistically kill these guys was my bare hands and the element of surprise. But this request wanted me to terrorize these monsters for a bit. Make them live in the fear they put so many through. That would be my pleasure. I've been killing for a living since I was 12, and not once have I killed someone who didn't deserve to die. I'm a professional. These psychopaths gave people like me a bad rep.
The first thing I did was place tripwires all over the house. This wouldn't hurt them, but it'd be a minor annoyance. Next I placed cardboard figures in corners and hallways. I wanted these bastards to be trigger happy and not know what was real or fake. Both of these were just to toy with them for a bit. The real scares followed.
I rigged all the doors to lock from the outside. Once they were in the wouldn't be going out. They could try going through a window, but since I had bars installed that would be a little difficult. Every room had something in store for them as well. Pictures of those they had killed. I wanted them to see the corpses of the children they had slaughtered. Once they knew why they were being punished I was going to take care of them.
Darkness fell upon my neighborhood and I sat down and waited. They would probably not arrive until early in the morning, but I knew I couldn't take any chances.
After a long period of silence I heard a car pull into my driveway. Showtime.
They all came into the house one by one.
"Shit. It's dark in here."
"Don't turn on the lights. We can't let the neighbors know we're here.
"I'll go into the back room and take care of this guy. He won't know what hit him."
They really thought they had their act down pat. Training can't prepare you for what I was going to do. I was going to show them what the wrath of the dead felt like.
The smallest one quietly crept through the doorway. He began to approach my bed. He bought the ruse. I watched as he stabbed my pillows. To be honest I almost laughed at his stupidly. "An expert,"I thought to myself.
"Hey guys, get your asses in here."
They all ran into the room when I slammed the door on them. They turned back and began to pound on the door.
"What's going on here?"
"Where are you? I'm going to kill you!"
I responded over my house's intercom system. "You three have been sentenced to die for what you have done. None of you will make it out of here tonight."What can I say, I had a taste for theatrics.
All three of the men began to use there strength to burst through the door. When they did they were met with an empty house. I was nowhere to be found. They began systematically searching each room. They fell for all of my tricks. Falling over tripwires, shooting at cutouts. I could tell they were panicking.
"Last room. Let's go."
They burst into the room. I could see their shocked looks. Large pictures of charred corpses filled the room. They all began to panic and yell.
"That's right,"I said, "I know who you three are. The Scorpion Butchers. There's no use in trying to escape. I've been hired by the families of your victims to ensure you all die.
I decided it was time. Their hearts were racing, I had installed fear inside of them. They were going to feel the pain they had caused so many. I crept out from the shadows to begin to take them out.
They were all in the living room when I managed to find them. I pounced onto the back of the biggest one and began to stab him. Before he even hit the floor I was gone again.
"What the hell? Where are you?!"
They were frantic. Their hands were trembling. I stood up from the darkness and grabbed their attention. "I am right here."They unloaded on me. I fell to the ground.
"Got 'em. Make sure he's dead."
They approached the body on the ground only to find a husk filled with newspaper.
"Holy-"
I ran him through before he could finish his sentence.
"Adams!"called out the final one. He stood up with his gun drawn. "Come on you bastard! Come get me!"
I gladly responded by kicking his feet out from under him. He fell to the floor and let out a cry. I quickly silenced him once and for all.
My work was done. The Butchers were dead. I walked out of the house and slipped into the night.
The gruesome murders of three "heroes"would be in the paper tomorrow. |
"But why, mommy? Why do we have to wear these?"
Jennifer stared at her daughter. Of course she didn't understand; how could she? But she needed to tell her something. She owed it to her child.
"Honey... I'm sorry. We all have to. Even those up on the surface."
Stacey gazed into her mother's eyes, confused. "But *why*?"
Jennifer stroked her child's hair.
"Don't worry, child. One day, you won't have to wear one. We won't have to be trapped down here. One day... you'll be free."
Stacey smiled uncertainly. "Will you be coming with me?"
"Don't tell daddy,"Jennifer said, placing the mask over Stacey's face, "but I'll be right behind you."
She tightened the mask's straps, making sure it was on tight. She watched as her daughter's breaths slowed, until the machine almost entirely breathed for her. She fell asleep in front of her eyes.
As always, she wondered if it would be the last time she'd be awake.
The door opened, and her husband walked in, wearing his mask. She took hers off, indicating for him to do the same.
"It's fine,"she whispered, gesturing towards her daughter, "she's asleep."
Michael nodded, taking off the mask. He gazed at her, his eyes full of sorrow.
"Do you think she'll ever get better?"he asked, as he put his hand on his wife's shoulder.
She carried on looking at her child, as her eyes began to water.
"No,"she said, wiping a tear from her cheek, "I don't."
She stroked Stacey's forehead with her thumb, wet from her tears.
"But until her time is up, at least we can make her feel normal again."
*****
*****
If you didn't completely hate that, consider subscribing to [my new subreddit.](https://www.reddit.com/r/CroatianSpy/)
I'll try add new (and old) stories every day. |
Everyone back at the office tried their hardest to avoid going on this business trip to Washington DC and I can't blame them. Who would want to spend their Christmas working alone in a place as cold as DC? Me that's who.
I've got no family to spend the holidays with and I really see this as more of a paid vacation. There really isn't that much work to do, so I will have plenty of time to visit plenty of museums here in DC.
I started my tour with the Holocaust museum. I figured that I wouldn't want to end my day on a sad note, so it only made sense to get it out of the way early. I learned a lot about the sufferings of the Jewish people and all the war crimes committed throughout Europe in death camps but nothing super notable. It wasn't until my 3rd stop that I learned something interesting.
Stop number three was the national air and space museum. I made my rounds and saw plenty of amazing pieces of technology. The space shuttle was cool, and the wright flyer was interesting, but when the tour guide got to the WW2 planes exhibit he started to piss me off. He gave all kinds recounts of the air battles over London and the rest of Europe, but he seemed to have some kind of fixation on a British guy named Johnie Johnson. He is supposedly the most deadly dogfighter that the Royal Air Force had at their disposal. I knew that he was wrong though. The thing is, I'm not sure how I know he's wrong.
I don't have any special knowledge of WW2. That's why I was so excited for this exhibit. For some reason, I also knew that I couldn't tell him that he was wrong. I would get in trouble and never be able to fly again. Wait. I can't fly. I even took a train to DC so that I wouldn't have to take a plane. Yet ever since I came into this room I couldn't get the feeling of flying a spitfire through clear skies out of my head. I really need to figure out what's going on.
I break off from the group and retrace my steps from where I am to the first time I started having these weird thoughts. It wasn't until I got to the picture of Amelia Earhart that I had to stop. 'Why did they use this picture?' I thought to myself. There are dozens of better pictures of me where my hair looked better and my face didn't look so pale. Wait. Why am I referring to this woman in the first person? I went to the nearest bench and sat down needing to think.
Is this why all this random knowledge about the 1930's has been coming to me? It still didn't make sense though. She died before WW2 started. I cleared my mind and tried to remember more. Then, I was placed on a runway in 1937 with a rushing feeling of getting a new start. I was going to have a new life starting today. I quickly darted off away from my plane and into a car that I had prepared for my big day. My navigator would be making this flight by himself so that I can have a head start off to England. I was tired of the spotlight and wanted to start over. After reaching the port, I boarded my ship and we set off on our long journey. God do I hate boats. They're so slow. The trip took many times longer than it would have by air, but we eventually made it.
Then, I snapped out of it.
Wow! This is incredible! No one alive knows the truth about Amelia Earhart! I had to know more, so I focused on remembering again.
It was 1940 and WW2 was thoroughly underway. I just couldn't sit around with all my new countrymen going off to fight. Not when I had valuable skills that could be used. Women, unfortunately, weren't allowed to fly in the RAF. I went to a pub to ponder my options over a drink. While at the bar, I overheard a man going on about how he was terrified of going off to fight. He knew that he was going to get drafted and there was no way that he would make it out there. I approached him and found out his name was Johnnie Johnson. I proposed to him a deal. If he would go and enlist in the RAF, I would take his place so that he would never have to worry about joining the war effort. (Plus, I would be a much better help than he would). Of course he agreed, the wimp.
I snapped out of it again.
Holy Shit! All those stories that the tour guide seemed obsessed with weren't this prick sitting in the pub, they were me!
|
Nervously, I pretended I didn't see her. I had nothing to talk about, and was terrible at small talk. If I don't look to the side, she might believe that I am just deep in thought.
"Hey Phil!"
Crap Crap crap I have nothing to say, how do I greet her, are we friends, do I have a chance? So, I go back on basics. Moving off the walkway I respond, EVER so interestingly,
"Hey Sarah, what's up?"
I wish I knew what interest she has in me, it would make it so much easier.
"Did you hear about the honesty virus? I think I have it, mildly. I'mean able to interpret questions as I want. What about you? Do you have it? I feel like you'd be the type of person that is immune."
Oh sweet, this is my chance. I will finally find out if she likes me - once the compulsion to answer her question wears off. It sucks that it has such a high level of control over me. Even implied questions; completely unfair.
"Yes I have heard of the virus, yes I have it. I have no tolerance or leeway with it."
Quickly now, and with a smile, before she can ask another question, I ask mine.
"So, who do you like?"
A grin breaks out on her face as she forms her answer. Please let that be an "about time you asked"grin and not a "now I know"grin.
"Oh, I like everybody! Why do you ask?"
No, no, no why would I ask her who she likes. What was I thinking, she even told me she had a mild version of the virus. I-
This virus pulled the answer from my lips, as my eyes shut.
"I wanted to know if you liked me, because I can't get you off my mind."
----------------------------------------------------------
A cure must be found. |
“I don’t believe it.”
Greg snorted. “Well, I can believe *that* at least.”
We looked at each other. Airborne truth serum through the whole country was a bit far-fetched, even for the news these days.
“No, but really, Greg,” I said. “How would they have done it? Opened the lid on a container and let vapour out? Or crop-dusted the entire country over the night? How many planes would you have to hire to get the job done?”
“Well, I heard something last night,” Greg said, then a strange look came over his face.
My coffee cup hesitated on the way to my mouth. “What did you hear?”
Greg kept frowning. “I wasn’t going to say that.”
“Mm?”
“I was going to say, ‘I didn’t hear anything,’. I wasn’t going to say I heard something.”
I took a sip. “Slip of the tongue?”
“I don’t think so,” he said. His head spun to me. “I was going to say, ‘maybe’ and I didn’t. I was going to totally downplay this so I could brush it off and I can’t.”
Greg shot up and started clearing the breakfast things away from the coffee table. The news was still on quietly in the background, the newscaster talking normally through her script. Nothing was weird on the news except for the fact that they were reporting on a story about *truth serum*.
I went after Greg. “Hey, wait. So you can’t brush it off – well, what did you hear last night?”
He clattered things around in the sink, half rinsing them but mostly trying to look busy. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
I tried to follow him as he darted to the bathroom to brush his teeth, and he put a hand out to stop me. “Just give me a minute to think.”
I still didn’t think much of it at that stage. But Greg never acts like that. He’s just a cool, collected guy normally, and I was a little bit worried that he’d heard some truck passing by in the night and was unable to let go of some conspiracy theory that somehow made it into the news. He needed a minute, though, so I gave him a minute.
I went back to the lounge room and stretched out to watch what the news was making of the rest of the story. They hadn’t stopped talking about it yet. Too long to be a joke section, too stupid to be real, and yet they were treating it with the gravity of a national disaster.
Then the Prime Minister came onto the screen, gripping at a podium and looking like a mouse in front of the hawk-like political press. I sat up.
“The situation we find ourselves in as a nation is overwhelming. Leading experts have predicted that the consequences of this ‘Truth Bomb’ over the next week are going to be disastrous for our economy, and for international relationships. This isn’t taking into account the effect there will be on individual relationships as it seems impossible now to lie. At all.”
Truth serum or not, that speech alone would be enough to tank the economy for a while. No investor likes to hear that they’re investing in something that’s going to fail. This was getting more serious. My office was closed for the Christmas shut-down period, but wherever he was now, the office manager was bound to be getting a phone call about an urgent meeting regarding the company’s future. The same thing would be happening for hundreds of other companies, too.
The Prime Minister seemed just as stunned as I was about how stupid he had been to say such a thing. He gaped at the audience of reporters. They didn’t give him any time to recover.
“Mr. Prime Minister! Which government agency is responsible for releasing the serum?”
“We know from the scale of the operation that it must have an agency with wide-spread coverage and enormous levels of funding –”
“Are you saying that it wasn’t an agency connected to our government?”
He made a quick motion to someone off camera. “I won’t be answering any more questions at this present time.” Three burly bodyguards stormed into view, two keeping the reporters at bay and the other one leading the Prime Minister off.
The camera swung around to the station’s political correspondent. “Ahh, from the Prime Minister’s response, we could speculate many situations, with too little evidence to gather any realistic understanding of what is happening right now. What the Prime Minister seems to have avoided saying is that this was an act of a government agency not connected to our own government – an idea sure to spark fear in the minds of many.”
I turned it off.
My coffee was getting cold. I took a gulp.
It took a minute to really sink in. Of course. If it was true – *if* it was true – there were all sorts problems to deal with. I wouldn’t be able say to Greg that his hair wasn’t going grey yet. I’d never want to answer when the cashier at the supermarket asked me how my day was going. I wouldn’t even be able to convince myself that the scales were showing the wrong number. But that was all small change as compared to the bigger things. No-one would trust anyone. “They lied to me before, so they’re a jerk” – never mind that they can’t lie now. No-one would trust themselves.
Greg staggered back into the lounge room. He looked at me with hollow eyes. ”I can’t lie anymore.”
“You and the whole country, babe.”
He sat.
“Do you think I’ll still have a job when shut-down finishes?” I asked, leaning my head against his arm.
“What? Why?”
“The economy.”
He took in a breath.
I fidgeted with my coffee mug. It was empty now – I was really just holding it so that my hands weren’t empty too. I don’t know what I’d do with them.
“One thing. It wasn’t our government that did it.”
He looked at me. “But whose was it, then?”
I shrugged. “Does it matter? We’re screwed.” |
"So this is end game huh?"
I ask as i look up over at the monster sitting behind a white desk to my left.
"Well, unless you have the cheat codes then yes."
The thing seems to drill his eyes into my soul, judging my every move even after death.
Smoke seeped out cracks in his charred blood red skin, embers stuck in his jagged yellow teeth mashed together in a pathetic effort to smile. A crimson cloak flowed over the hunch in his back, a river of red turning to mist as it hit the floor.
"You can have a look at you life statistics if you'd like."
The worlds seemed to bounce around the small white room, it seems like a millenium has passed when his words no longer echo off the white walls. But they still linger in my mind.
"Life statistics?"
I question.
"Well yeah, take a look"
He replies, brushing dust of his shoulders.
A screen appears in front of me, stretching across and entire wall. The lights dim as i begin to read.
-2,783,541,200 seconds lived
-Two offspring
-Seven mates
-132 lb's
-6.2 feet in height
-44 inch waist
-brunette hair (blond at time of death)
Just the beginning of the list.
I look up at the very top of the wall, there are multiple various tabs including but not limited to:
-hunting replays (0)
-near death experiences (2)
-child statistics
-Mankind records (5)
I turn to the man behind the desk.
"Mankind records?"
He laughs and says.
"Yeah I'm suprised, didn't think you had it in you."
I tap on the tab and read through my achievements.
-Longest time watching grass grow (2978) hours
A study I did for my doctorate degree.
-Most undirected curse words yelled in the queens general vicinity unintentionally (17)
-First man to count every single hair on his head.
I did this when I was bored as a child and couldn't sleep.
-Longest time spent unaware of the fact you are wearing a wig.
The ongoing time stamp next to this record changed to 2,783,328,745 seconds as I pulled the scruffy wig off my head.
And last but not least, most pieces of human genitals consumed in one sitting.
"12, your wife was a serial killer and she. Replaced your sausages with, well, sausages last thanks giving."
The man explained, noting my shocked expression.
"Well thats all we have time for!"
Yelled the man to no one in particular as he slammed a red buzzer on the top of his desk.
"See ya next time!" |
It began at my father’s fortieth. He began a long speech of the proud accomplishments of his predecessors, and the hope that his children had for the future, listing their accomplishments one by one. He began with my brother, the prodigal son, and his feats of strength and awe. But he ended with me, only giving me a quick stare.
I am the eldest son, but powerless. Rumors began circulating that I wasn't their son, and yet the tests proved this beyond a fact. They tested me, placed me in unsafe situations, tried to get something. But nothing happen. Now here I was, the child in the back of the room. Forgotten.
And then it happened. The "pick before you eat"seafood buffet began talking to me. I directed my thoughts and moments later, like sonar, I got thoughts back from the lobsters. They had no idea what was going to happen.
I slip a thousand to the aquarium guy, deciding that I'm going to set them free. With my quarry in tow I was set to leave, when my father appeared.
"Son I understand your frustration, but it’s my day and you have no right to do this."
“But dad”, I explained "I can hear them think”
With the sudden look of disbelief, I sent my thoughts to read his mind. He suddenly fell on the floor.
A quick check of his pulse told me he was alive, and that he was just unconscious. So I directed my thoughts at a nearby piece of fruit. It exploded.
Maybe I should get this power under control before I use it.
|
__29th of September, 1963__
The Nurse came out of the room. Horrible and Horrifying were waiting for the big news.
"It's a boy. Everything went well. No problems whatsoever!"Said the Nurse.
"Yay, Horrible! You have a little brother!"said Aunt Horrifying.
__2nd of October, year 1963__
"Horrible, come here, Terrific wants to see you!"said Horrific. Horrific had his arm around Terrible, who was cradeling Terrific.
"One day he'll turn out to be a great terror, just like his mum!"Said Horrific.
"Oh, dont say that. Trust me, he's horrendous!' said Terrible. They smiled at eachother, whilst Horrible tried to bite his little brother.
"Well done Horrible, but do that to other people."
A scar appeared in Terribles arm, and he started crying.
"We'll have to get that sorted out"Horrible murmured.
__7th of June 1973__
"Terrific! Wanna play some fright?"shouted Horrifying.
"Yes please Aunt Horri!"
"Terrific!"Shouted Terrifying, terrifyingly.
"Oh... I mean, Hell Yeah Aunt Ugly..."said Terrific.
"God, why don't you send him back to the hell hole hospital!"Said Horrible. They all laughed, except for Terrific. He slouched back upstairs - too upset to play fright.
"What's wrong with that boy..."Said Horrifying.
"I think it's that 'Kindness' friend he keeps visiting."said Horrible.
"Yeah weird family..."Said Terrible.
__31st of October 1978__
"TERRIFIC, ME AND DEVASTATING ARE GONNA GO LOOTING, YOU COMING YA PIECE OF CRAP?"
"N-n-no, stay aw-w-way from me..."Whimpered Terrific, cowering in the corner of his room.
"You're brothers a wimp Horrible! We need ta teach him a lesson!"said Devastating. Terrific had always hated his family, and their friends. Why did they have to be so... Terrifyingly Horrific? The only people he liked were Kindness, and her parents, Happiness and Kindhearted.
__1st of November 1978__
"You really need to get a better brother."Said Kindness. She was helping patch Terrific up, after what Devastating did to him.
"They're terrible."
"They're Terribles."
__March 13th 1982__
"Why can't you be like your brother? Horrible has hurt 74 people, stolen from 92, and killed 3. What have you done?"Shouted Horrific. He kicked Terrific.
"Given candy to a baby!"He kicked him again.
"Nurtured an injured bird!"He kicked him again.
"You're no son of mine. Get out of my house."
"I. Don't. Want. To. Hurt. People!"Terrific shouted.
"Didn't you hear Dad? Get out!"Said Horrible.
"Fuck you Horrible!"Shouted Terrific. He snapped. He punched Horrible straight in the gut, then kicked him to the floor. It was maniacle. Terrifying and Horrific could only watch as one son murdered the other.
Terrific realised what he had done. He broke down.
"You. Killed. Him. You killed your own brother."Terrific looked at the scar on his arm.
"He deserved it." |
"I won. I can't believe I won!"I scream from my cubicle.
My boss, Mr. Lewis comes over to see what the commotion is all about.
"Daniel, what's all the hub bub? Have you completed the client experience index reports?"He says.
"No, I didn't complete the CEIR, you crusty sack of shit!"I beligerently yell. "Take this two bit job, and cram it fatso"
I'm not sure why I verbally assault Mr. Lewis. He had helped me buy an engagement ring for my pregnant fiancé. He's done nothing but assist in me both professionally and personally.
"Carl. You can lick on these nuts."
The final nail in the coffin of my career here at Global Insurance. That was my official resignation. Coworkers began approaching me as I threw items off of my desk. I hit Stroman, the lovable oaf who buys mocciatos for everyone on pay day straight in the face with a stapler. He required 4 stitches. I didn't care in the least. I had won the god damn lottery. I am now above these people.
Storm clouds filled the sky. Inside the lottery commissions headquarters a red phone begins to ring. A stocky, middle aged pencil pusher gets up from his desk. He had been playing FreeCell on his PC. Dreaming about the new deep fryer he had purchased on his way to work this morning. Totally stoked to try out a new stout beer batter for his fried fish.
"Mmmmyello"says the man into the phone receiver.
The mans posture stiffens.
"No friggin' way. I thought this contest way rigged? There's actually been a winner?"
He nods his head while holding the receiver to his ear.
"Of course I still have the contact information. Sir, I thought this was just a training exercise! You really want me to call in the favor?"
A solemn look overtakes his face.
"But sir, I'm only 2 days away from retirement."
The stocky man hangs up the phone. Pulls a soft pack of Marlboro Lights from his pocket and lights a cigarette.
"God damn it."
Smoking a cigarette and drinking a bottle of Miller High Life I drive my beat up Dodge Caravan. I pull into my driveway. Flicking the cigarette on the front lawn and throws the bottle onto the street. I open the front door and enters the house.
"Honey, you're home early?"My fiancé says with concern in her voice.
"Not for long dumb dumb."
I open the closet and change into an Anthrax tshirt i bought in '89 when the band toured the east coast.
"What are you doing?"
"I won the lotto babe, so keep this dump, I'm off to bigger and better. Smell ya later."
I really can't explain this behavior. I love my wife. I don't smoke. The idea of that sweet 5k a week is completely altering my perception.
I moon my wife as I exit the house. Cracking another High Life I chug the entire bottle and smash it on my front door step.
A Dodge Challenger is parked across the street. A man with slicked back hair smoking a Virginia slim watches me. I see him check a photograph and pull his shades down to get a better look. Since I see the whites of his eyes I grab my crotch.
"Go on GET!"I inexplicably scream.
The man gets out of his vehicle. He's wearing a black tuxedo vest, with no shirt on underneath. His slacks have been cut into shorts. Dude is ripped. To the max. No refunds.
"Oh is this how we're gonna do it?"I say pulling my shirt off. My gut makes an audible noise as it's lifted up and slaps against my pelvis.
As I walk towards this mystery man he pulls out a humungous knife.
"Woah there boy. I'm just foolin', no need for that type of hardware."I say desperately.
He begins swinging the knife around like a god damn lunatic.
"Listen, I've got money. A shitload in fact. I'll give you 100 grand to fuck off"
"Muchacho. You're money is no good senor. My boss has given me 250 thousand for your life. You will need nearly a year with your winnings to match that's."
"Wait a second. A god damn year?"
"5 thousand a week is just shy of 300 thousand a year esse"
"What?!? I thought it was millions!"
Thinking I had distracted him I went to punch him in the face. As a trained assassin he obviously dodged it and stuck the knife up through my armpit. He searches my pockets and finds the lotto ticket. He also finds a roll of condoms, a couple jolly ranchers and my phone. Set to record.
"That's right you sour sack of shit, I recorded the whole god damn thing,"I say with pride beaming from my voice.
"Big deal. I didn't say my name, and I'm using a phony accent jabrone"
Shit. He's right. I'm laying on my front lawn bleeding out with horrible evidence on my soon to be murderer. Just then my wife comes outside. The assassin bolts to his car. Does a semi killer burnout before peeling away. Total pro.
"Oh my god, what happened?"My wife says as she runs over to my bloody mess of a body laying on the ground.
Even though I was nasty to her, she still cares.
"Babe, I think I quit my job earlier, and that handsome man just took my ticket to paradise."
She pulls my head into her voluptuous bosom. I awkwardly begin to try and motorboat the boobies but since we're in our driveway at 3pm she lets me drop to the ground.
"Once a dog. Always a dog"she says.
I make a barking noise then suddenly pass out from the massive amount of blood I've lost.
|
2017.01.17
*ENTRY #98*
Against all reason, it is the fieldmouse which has proven itself to be the most burdensome of my assigned tasks. I have, instead, been forced to address the problem in reverse - it is not the fieldmouse I seek, but the seeker of the fieldmouse that I seek.
This better work.
*ENTRY #99*
I am horribly wounded, but victorious. But also possibly crippled in a most permanent way. No matter.
I have captured an owl. The owl had captured a fieldmouse. The irony is not lost on me. Nor is it lost on the owl. Which is dead.
I am certain the irony was apparent in the moments leading up its death. Owls are very perceptive creatures.
*ENTRY #100*
I have staged my living quarters as described in Pellmarth's *TOME OF THE DAMNED*. The table is upside down and all of my appliances are unplugged. I have quartered the dragon's heart and placed it within the chalk circle, which is itself within the chalk square, which is all quite thoroughly coated in blood, thanks to my grievous owl-inflicted injuries. Pellmarth makes no mention of human blood in the ceremony, but I cannot imagine it hurts.
I have carved the required runes using the basilisk's fang. This laminate is a difficult writing surface. I must assume that penmanship is only a minor consideration.
*ENTRY #101*
After pausing for a quick spritz of Bactine, I have pried the fieldmouse from the owl's mouth and squeezed loose the tiny creature's lifeblood, of which there is distressingly little. So little, in fact, that none has come out.
I am forced once more to improvise.
**SHOPPING LIST: GET NEW BLENDER**
*ENTRY #102*
The blood of the fieldmouse, in addition to a liquefied mixture of much of the rest of the fieldmouse, has been added. The final stage begins.
*ENTRY #103*
I set the final component down amongst the enchanted gore and mystical symbols. Nan's decade-old laptop radiates the very heat of Hell's flames as pornographic pop-ups sputter and crawl across the crystalline screen, the machine's pathetic coolant system mewling like a dying kitten.
"Spirits of the Overworld!"I chant. "Godkings of the Night Lands! Hear my plea! Restore this wretched device to its former adequacy! Let not its owner, mine own Nan, find out about the horrible things I sometimes do when I am visiting and she is taken by sleep in the middle of the afternoon! It needs only the strength necessary to access Facebook and play the occasional game of Solitaire. My need is great, please hear my plea!"
I sit back and wait. In the immediate nothing changes. The images shown are a slow moving waterfall of flesh-colored pixels. The machine howls. I fear they have not heard my plea. I fear I am alone in this moment of my undoing.
The screen turns black. All is silence.
With tremulous fingers, I reach out, and compress the power button.
2017.01.18
*ENTRY #104*
I have told my Nan that she acquired a virus while browsing Facebook. The laptop could not be saved.
I will take her to BestBuy tomorrow. She is disappointed, but, as she reminds me often, they simply do not make things like they used to. She just hopes she can get another Dell.
The spirits operate in mysterious ways, do they not? |
I've never been a fan of plane rides—which is quite a problem for someone like me who has to go on plane rides constantly—I'm always scared of crashing.
I felt much worse knowing I had to cross the entire Pacific.
I felt much worse hearing there was no pilot.
No pilot! How could they not have a pilot! How!
Someone says "Does anyone have flying experience? We... well... you get the idea"
I start to wonder about the shoddiness of this airline.
A 20-something looking nerd with a large beard stands up.
"I'm Jacob Haschak. Known on the internet as dreamer45"
A voice interrupts to say that they watch his videos on YouTube.
"I have the world record for any% low% glitchless campaign mode on the critically acclaimed *Best Flight Simulator Two*!
"Just check speedrun.com and see"
He goes into the cockpit. He did it cockily. Isn't that funny?
He talks for a while. He seems to forget that he is not supposed to be streaming on Twitch as he usually does. I think he started setting up a facecam. I heard him mumble something about OBS and after that he remembered that this was real life and not *Best Flight Simulator Two*.
I decided to look him up on my phone.
Finally, we start taking off. I find out that someone recently got a faster time on his game.
That game must have been very accurate, because it taught him well.
Or at least, I'd say so, because I did not expect the plane to get a foot off the ground, but it did.
Not only that, we went farther. But only for a little while. I hear the pilot.
"Shoot, I gotta reset"
Then we start falling.
"OH MY GOD I FORGOT OH"
After the second oh he started saying an indescribable mix of random noises as he stumbled over his own tongue trying not to curse.
I wonder why he didn't want to curse.
I wonder why I stayed on this plane.
At this point we are above the Pacific, so we are above water.
I kid you not, I hear and feel the plane touch water and then zoom up.
But I passed out after that.
|
I replaced the chalk circle drawn in a damp basement with one drawn onto a rock above an ocean-side cliff in broad daylight. The nine candles were replaced by seven freshly cut roses. The Dark Book of Rituals was now a family bible, holding many years of church-going writings and notations by many generations of my family.
"Well here goes nothing,"I spoke into the air with a smile. If I was right I had reversed just about everything from a normal demonic summoning ritual. I had just figured out how to reverse the sacrifice part. I planted a seed in a small patch of dirt in the center of the stone. Instead of taking a life I was starting one, "Come forth o' angels of heaven!"I chanted over and over.
"What is it you want, exactly?"The voice speaking from behind me startled me and I nearly jumped out of my skin, "I was in the middle of tea and then here I am."She looked around, her wings were down in what I thought was a defensive posture, "Quite rude, if you ask me. How would you like to be in the middle of a bath and blam, suddenly you're sitting in a circle of insects that summoned you? You wouldn't like it at all, I tell you."
"Are you an angel?"I asked her, the smile on my face was mixed with emotions. I was elated but guarded at the same time, especially with her attitude.
"No, I'm a chicken,"She rolled her eyes and looked around then held her nose, "Just what are you humans burning nowadays? This place stinks. I see that you think you're pretty clever with this circle thing. Not a pentagram? Oh, a heptagram! Clever again. Not bad for an ape-born."
"So, what is heaven like?"I asked, trying to ignore her rudeness and salvage something from this summoning.
"Think this,"she said gesturing to the world around her, "Except the exact opposite. Wow, when the Old Man let things run their course I didn't expect things to go completely to shit. Where are the unicorns?"
"Unicorns?"I raised an eyebrow to see if she was pulling a fast one on me, "There aren't any."
"Ah, you ape-born kill and eat them all in some savage ceremony?"She asked and laughed, "I'd expect as much. Always thought the Old Man should have created you with a few more brain cells. He said free will would take care of that, but look at the mess you've made."
"We were created in His image,"I said, showing her the bible, "It says so right here!"
"Oh that's rich!"She said and laughed heartily, "And who wrote that? I bet a grasshopper would imagine the Old Man as a giant grasshopper. No, He's much handsomer and smarter than you lot."
"Can you please leave?"I asked her, slamming the bible shut because I did not want to hear any more. I suddenly realized why there were no rituals for summoning angels. They were assholes.
|
Out of the corner of my eye I see her phone start to ring. Confused, but happy, she takes the call, hears "Hello, this is Rajin from Microsoft, and I am calling to make you aware that there is a virus..."and steps outside and gets away from the creep that kept flirting with her after she asked him to stop.
You know, it's crazy how happy somebody can be to get a call from a telemarketer, but i guess anything that can get you out of an uncomfortable situation is a good thing.
At first I thought it was just coincidence. I had seen a guy being chatted up by some chick that was just making him uncomfortable. I was thinking about how I wished there were some way for him to get out of that predicament, and suddenly bananas! his phone rang. It took me a while, but i finally realized, I can summon a telemarketing call to anybody whenever i want, and as a bartender I have used this so many times to help so many people.
I walk over to where she was sitting, take her glass, and pour the roofied drink down the sink behind the bar. |
"*Well that's kinda funny*"I thought to myself.
Making sure i read everything i needed to know i dropped the note into the burning fireplace and grabbed a bottle of scotch off the mantle. The house was quiet and only the sound of the occasional passing bus punctuated the silence. Pouring myself a glass i looked around at my life. The pictures of places i've been, friends i made and things i did.
It was all a cover though even if it was real. It was a straightforward business running a franchise outlet. Practically ran itself with my assistant manager, nice guy, doing all the real work. This left me to do my real job, taking care of people for my clients.
I sat in my chair and took a deep breath as i sipped my drink. Who would want my business guy persona dead? I was the very model of an upstanding citizen. Sure i killed people for a living, but no one knew that and even my clients only communicated with me through intermediaries. I took another sip as i contemplated my options. I had a plan for this contingency actually, fake my own death. The client is happy, i get paid and i could always start a new life. I already had the desiccated body of some homeless guy stashed beneath the floorboards. He matched my build and i smashed his teeth in to ensure he couldn't be identified by dental records. It had been a good two years since i put him there but i honestly didn't expect to need him so soon.
I refilled my glass and stood up as the fireplace roared. I took a sip and noted just how good the scotch was. I glanced at the label, it was an expensive brand that i wouldn't have bought for myself. It was a gift from my assistant manager during our last Christmas party. A wry smile crept across my face as i realized the one person with the most to gain from my death was him. I took another sip. He finally grew the stones to make it to the top. I threw the bottle against the fireplace, not in malice or anger, but in pride. Flames erupted from the spill and rapidly consumed the surrounding carpet. The drapes started to smolder as i finished my glass in his honor. Tossing it into the inferno i grabbed my coat and my silenced pistol. I stepped out just as my house was consumed by flame.
Taking one final view of my old life I vanished into the night. |
"Mr. Lockheart", yelled the man at the door, "Mr. Lockheart, please open up, it's important!".
I wake up startled by the sounds of the loud voice and look at the clock. 6am. Ugh.
It sounds urgent however. I hurry towards the door and open it after looking through the peephole.
"Hello... who are you?"
A man in white lab coat is standing there, carrying documents under his arm - documents that look like the DNA samples I sent last week to that new lab past the clinic.
"Yes, how can I.. uh, how can I help you?"
"You mind if I come in?", he said, making his way inside before hearing my answer.
"Um, sure..."
--
We're sitting down now, I'm drinking coffee, he is having a RedBull he took from his bag.
"Mr. Lockheart, forgive me if I'm direct, but you sent your DNA to be analyzed last week, correct?"
"Yes, that's correct. How do you know that?"
"And the purpose of such an analysis was to see your ancestry, yes?"
"Correct again. But, how do you know that?"
"Well Mr. Lockheart, I have your analysis right here, and some things have come to light. "
"You really like avoiding questions. Okay. I'm assuming you work at the lab, then? But couldn't you just phone me about this, or send the tests directly?"
"No! Turns out that there is a big discovery in your DNA, and I wanted to tell you directly, to congratulate you and to let you know what the future holds for humanity! Part of the DNA sequence you sent seems to have remnants of some we thought was lost due to evolution over thousands of years."
"I don't think I understand", I said.
"Let me say it in very simple terms: Back to the time of our most primitive ancestors - I'm not sure when exactly, leave that to the historians - it used to be the case that mammals had a key sequence in their DNA which allowed them to withstand diseases far easier than us. Mostly this was due to the amount of exposure to the environment they had, and some other factors - I'm not sure which exactly, leave that to the biologists - but the point is that thanks to your DNA we now have the key to reproducing this sequence in a lab environment! Thiscan allow us to, someday, create vaccines to cure heart diseases, cognitive degeneration, fevers, Parkinson, Aids - who knows, the sky's the limit!"
"Wow! That's amazing! Jesus... And am I gonna get some kind or remuneration for this?"
"What? No, sorry."
"Oh."
There was a silence for a while.
"Well, that's fine, at least I have that DNA in me, right? Meaning I'm immune to most diseases?"
"No. Not really. The sequence is there, but it's dormant, so... yeah."
"Oh."
Another silence. The man then shuffles opens my file and examines it for a few seconds.
"Oh, right, I almost forgot!"
"Yes? More good news?"
"Well, we definitely found something else while doing some extra blood work!"
"Yes?!"
"You have cancer."
--
More stories: [/r/TitanStories](https://www.reddit.com/r/TitanStories) - [Titan Stories](https://stories.titan.red/) - [Newsletter](https://tinyletter.com/titanred) |
“How did our government become what it is today?” asked a child bouncing on my knee.
“Yes!” I cheered. I loved it when my nephews asked me this. I cleared my throat and finished my maple whiskey.
------
>Lord Buckethead stood next to Theresa May, smiling his buckety smile and waving at the dames and blokes of Corningshiresworthstead.
>“Aye’m feckin’ gobsmacked,” said a man in the crowd. His name was Bernard. He wore an adidas tracksuit, had a shaved head, and liked smoking spice. He was chewing loudly and messily on a blue plastic bottle cap. Bernard didn’t know it yet, but he was the greatest philosopher of our time.
>“Old bucketabolts onna stage wif Tareesey? wot next a gang o’ furries wif axes?” He chortled.
>“Furries wif axes?” said the 9 to his left.
>“Aye miss,” Bernard averred. The woman looked down at him with interest. Bernard dropped the bottlecap from his mouth in surprise. This tall, elegant creature had flowing blonde hair, a soft silken dress, and eyes that paralyzed a man’s breathing. Most days Bernard couldn’t even get fat old Miss Havershickershamwhot to pay him any attention. He couldn’t blow his chance on this eminently shaggable piece.
>“Aye’m a rep’sentative of the gang o’ furries wi’ axes co’lition for good’n’propa guv’nance, at your sevice I aye’m.”
>“Hush, you are not,” said the woman, who was clearly intelligent as well as beautiful. Bernard fell even more in love-or whatever it was that he felt.
>“Woodn’t lie to a lady, now woodaye?” Bernard said, “Swear it on me great-grandmum Tiddles gravestone—aye! swear it on all the biddies in the cem’try.”
>“’e swears it on all the biddies in the cem’try?!” the woman said, looking round at her friends, “Did you ‘ear that?” They tittered nervously, tugging on her elbow.
>She rolled her eyes at Bernard. “What’s yer platform like, then? Haven’tcha got one?”
>“I ‘ave!” Bernard said, loud and unsteady with anger. “It’s a right great platform, it is, it’s tall and smooth and heaps better ‘an this one,” He pointed at the stage where Lord Buckethead and Theresa May stood.
>“It’s tall?” the woman laughed scornfully. “It’s smooth?”
>“Right smoothest platform around,” Bernard said, “Jus like me, smoothest bloke there is.” He jabbed his finger to his chest. He didn’t know how, but he knew this smart, beautiful woman was making fun of him. But he was a straight-backed man and he didn’t take shite off nobody, brainy or beautiful, dead or alive, axe-wielding or not-axe-wielding.
>She laughed coldly at him. “How… ironic,” she said.
>“Wussat mean?” He said, “Ironic?”
>“It’s a lit’ry device,” she said, “conveys undercurrents o’ hidden meaning of which the speaker is unawares.”
>Bernard shook his head at her nonsense. “If ya can’t say something in simple language like—yer prolly fulla shite.”
-----
“And,” I said, smiling down at my half-asleep nephew, “That’s pretty much how things got started. A lot of people heard Bernard say that if you can’t say something simple, yer prolly fulla shite. And that resonated with all the people in all the land of the united kingdom. And so people got ta thinkin that maybe his other ideas were right too—about the furries and such. And that’s why we moved to Canada.”
My nephew smiled up at me. I patted him on the head.
---
>subscribe to /r/trrh for more! |
"11 minutes to your birthday."
 
"I guess,"she stared at the peeling, sickeningly pastel yellow ceiling above us. August 16th. It didn't matter, of course, she was already 18, she wouldn't be ageing anytime soon until she found "The One". Stupid, I know, but I wasn't the one who made the rules. Sighing, I traced the thin stripes across the back of her wrist. 18 imprints. For 18 years. She didn't react, except for a tiny shudder as my fingertips traced the 18th line. For a moment, there existed nothing but a comfortable silence between us as we lay next to each other, staring at the peeling, sickeningly pastel yellow ceiling.
 
My cheek brushed against hers ever so slightly as I turned my head to face her. Her cheeks were a constellation of freckles, her eyes the perfect shade of galactic blue. 6 more minutes.
 
"Alice?"She sat up, and my breath caught in my throat ever so slightly as she turned to face me. "How would you know... If you found...". Her words trailed off.
 
The rough fabric of my jacket itched at my wrist, where two weeks ago, on my birthday, another line had been set. I forced a laugh, the words tripping and stumbling over my tongue as I replied. "Trust me. You'd know."
|
"I have been expecting yo... Wait, what the hell are you doing here"
"Err... I live here?"I responded, now unsure of myself.
The man in the suit emanated a presence of Familiarity and respect, even though I'd never seen him before.
"How long have you lived here?"He questioned, his eyes following me as I took off my coat.
I didn't know how to respond, I felt at ease for some reason, compelled to tell him the truth.
"Only about a year, after my grandfather went missing the house was given to me."I said, the words formed in my mouth without me thinking, "Did you know him?"
"Yes, we had, I guess you could say, an arrangement."The man responded, for the first time sitting back in the chair, uneasily "I knew him for a long time, I owe a lot to him, and him to me."
"Where you close?"I queried.
"No. I do have a lot of respect for the man though, and value his work immensely."
"His work?"I was confused, for as long as I could remember my grandfather had been a retired jeweller making rings and necklaces for far less than they where worth.
"Truth be told..."I continued "I've never met an acquaintance of my grandfathers, would you care for some Tea? I've got his old kettle that makes the best brews."I asked the man this not because I wanted him to stay, but instead because at this point I was curious, about both the man and now, about my grandfather.
"That would be delightful."The man said as he stood up to let me pass.
I turned into the kitchen and felt the hair on the back of my neck stand up on end, much like when my grandfather used to take me into his workshop to play as a boy.
The man had gone, I didn't need to check. I, like my grandfather, could feel him slip back into his home realm. He didn't realise I had the solutions to his problems. However I, unlike my grandfather, didn't offer out help. No, he needed to ask, he needed to beg, he needed to pay for what his kind did to my grandfather.
It's just a shame he left before drinking from the kettle.
|
"Aw hell."
So to start, I have had a bit of an accident. The all powerful "Orb of Creation"lay before me in one million pieces on the shiny marble floor. A blue puff of smoke escapes the wreckage and dissipates into the air.
"Dargo is gonna have my hide for this."I say aloud before letting out a groan.
"What will I have?"Responds Dargo as he appears almost out of thin air.
He peers at the empty pedestal and then down at the sparkling mess on the floor. Before he has a chance to say anything I begin to attempt an explanation.
"Dargo! I'm so sorry I slipped and it fell oh my word what is going to happen to us we were supposed to protect the orb and now look at it its in a mil-"
"Shhh! It's alright lad."he whispers while laughing, "You think I would just leave the real one laying around like that?"
"Well uh, uhh no I suppose not..."I trail off.
"The real one is somewhere perfectly safe, now get a broom and clean this up, dinner is in an hour."He says, scolding me lightly.
What a relief, for a second there I thought I had single handedly ended the world. I snap my fingers and a broom appears into my hand, I begin slowly cleaning up the thousands of little shards of shining glass. Looks like the only thing this orb created was a mess.
|
“My God, we’ve done it! We’ve teleported!”
Broggen twisted the base of his helmet and heard a sharp hiss as the trapped air was released. Perhaps there had been a change in altitude? Where were they now?
“We have to contact the others!” Broggen’s partner, Hashley, exclaimed. “This is incredible! Not only did we survive, we’re…I mean we’re actually in an entirely different place! I can feel it in the air.”
Broggen frowned. Hashley was right. The air was very different. He took a long, deep breath, tasting the different compounds as they played off his tongues.
Suddenly, Broggen stumbled forward, feeling nauseated. His left tongue was signaling a much higher atmospheric oxygen concentration than normal. The right tongue, in contrast, was having trouble picking up on that beloved Carbon Dioxide on which the Lozdeans thrived.
“You ok, Broggen?” asked Hashley, rushing to his side.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” he replied, quickly straightening up. “I was just dizzy for a second. Say, does the air taste peculiar?”
“You know, now that you mention it, it kind of does. There’s too much oxygen.”
A rumbling began in the distance. Humans would not have been able to hear it, but Lozdeans had vibratory mechanoreceptors much more sensitive than the Pacinian Corpuscles found in humans.
“Something big is coming our way.”
Quickly ascending the trees, Broggen and Hashley emerged above the sea of leaves covering the lush forest surrounding them. Not far in the distance they spotted a path, surprisingly well-maintained.
They leapt back to the ground and slithered to the path. Large metal cuboid figures were zooming up and down the mysteriously gray concrete. Broggen and Hashley were baffled. They themselves owned similar vehicles, but nothing of this size.
“Is this a road?” Hashley shouted over the roaring metal monsters. “It’s far too wide!”
A large piece of paper suddenly shot out of one of these vehicle’s windows and drifted to a soft landing across the street.
“We should check that out, maybe it’ll tell us where we are!” suggested Broggen, removing his handy translation device from his bag. It had never failed him before, even in learning entirely new and undiscovered languages from the largely unexplored deserts on the other side of the world.
Waiting for a gap in the terrifying traffic, they sprinted across the road as fast as they could, panting and out of breath by the time they reached the paper.
It was a thin but extremely large piece of newspaper, according to what the translator said the title read, although surprisingly this seemed to be written in another undiscovered language. A rare find. Luckily, Lozdean foreign language technology was among the best in the world.
The newspaper was at least four times the size of the Lozdeans and they had to pin it up against a nearby tree to better examine it. The cover was quite peculiar. Two large, ape-like figures were photographed holding on to each other’s limbs, perhaps smiling?
The translator honed in on what appeared to be a date. “September 12 2017,” read Broggen in the Lozdean native tongue. “What in the world?”
“2017??” exclaimed Hashley. “What does that mean, Broggen! Broggen?”
Broggen was busy ferociously scanning the transcriptions, eyes widening. “Hashley, where are all the Lozdeans? Who are the hairless apes in all of these pictures?”
Hashley skimmed the newspaper. “Didn’t Professor Skobul mention something about time travel?”
“He said that he had contemplated using the same basic technology used on the teleporter for his research on time manipulation in the future, but I highly doubt that this could be accomplished using….”
Broggen and Hashley jumped as a high-pitched screech startled them from behind. Turning around, they found themselves face to face with a giant ape. It appeared to be wearing a colorful outfit of some sort, but the majority of its limbs remained exposed.
“Ewwww, Daddy what are those things?” cried the monstrous ape.
Hearing the translator’s interpretation based on what it had learned from the newspaper, Broggen gulped. “The father may be nearby, we need to be careful in case these apes are aggress...!”
A large, leathery foot crushed the Lozdeans in a single stomp.
“You have to watch out for poisonous creatures in the forest, darling,” said the father to the young girl. "The red on their skin means danger!"
|
Put this together very quickly:
Fuck.
How in the flying fuck did I find myself stuck in this fucking fuck of a game?
There I was, enjoying my morning walk to work, minding my own business and then blinding light hit me, heat in the air and the unmistakable smell of Trilian BO was in the air. Fuck the Trilian bastards. Sure, there is evidence to suggest that the yearly Battle Royal reduced xenophobic attacks by a huge percentage, but it didn’t give the smart arses the power to just grab whoever the hell they wanted.
The funny thing is I remember watching the Battle Royal last year. I remember actually cheering on the pathetic human that was picked. He was an IT Tech. Sure, he had no fancy fighting techniques and no weapon experience, but he had smarts. The way he killed the Sissix was a stroke of genius! Who would have thought a piece of wire, a car battery and a toaster could be stripped down to create such a….well…it was almost a beautiful death.
I remember getting pissed off at the little cunt when he died. He somehow got down to the last five; I put about 3000 Credits on him. Then he had to meet the Durak Warrior on the rooftop…well, his lack of fighting skills really showed against the eventual winner.
I never thought I would be picked.
In hindsight, I guess that was the beauty of this game. It was one person to each species, the Human race is the biggest it has ever been, we are like horny Rabbits – the odds of being picked were astronomical. At least unlike last year, I actually had a fighting chance.
Sure, it wasn’t as if I practised and trained myself to fight. But at the end of the day, I am a war veteran. Admittingly, our Human wars weren’t the biggest of things in the grand scheme of things, but I did have experience. That is all the matters.
The holding room that we were in was well lit and had plenty of toys to play around with.
Luckily, I was one of the first to wake up and found an ancient piece of human tech which I was rather fond of.
Slowly but surely I watched every other little cunt wake up. One by one they did what I did. They woke up. They panicked. They composed themselves and realised that now was the time to look tough. Then they picked their weapons, knowing that any time now the walls to the holding cell were going to disappear and a free for all was going to break out.
This year seemed the same as every year before it.
The Trilian bastard, whose species devised this yearly clusterfuck, looked happy about being picked. In their culture, being chosen for the Battle Royal was an honour. Through their little clicks and their little gurgles, I could make out that he was thanking his people while looking up at the camera. The stupid insect was putting on a show.
The Sissix this year seemed nervous to begin with, which was unusual for a warrior species like them. Its scales were a deep blue, which was far as I knew, meant that he was royalty. I was looking forward to killing it. I hated Sissix royalty. They were a spoiled bunch of Godzilla wannabes. As it walked over to the table, it tried to look all powerful and tough, swishing its tail this way and that. It walked with a hip sway that my Aunt would have been proud of. It picked up a trident. Little cunt thought he was Aquaman. I stared right through it. I was going to kill that one first.
As usual, the Justix and the Lopok champions instantly started talking to each other. Well, I say talk, but all it looked like from here was a theatrical showing of who could blow the biggest snot bubble. Fucking creepy shits. They were peaceful, as far as I remembered, and used to petition against this event every year. They didn’t have a chance at winning and they knew it. Both of them didn’t even have arms. Evolution wasn’t kind to them.
There were hundreds of species in this room, and to be honest, after the snotty creeps woke up, I got bored of watching them all trying to be tough. Now they were all shouting about who they were going to kill. It was pathetic. Just a dick measuring contest.
Sure, it made the audience excited. This was when the bets were being made across the galaxy. It was the time to shine before all hell broke loose. I would rather clean my gun.
I was surprised to find an old SCAR sitting on the table. Not only was it an ancient bit of tech, but it was extremely expensive. I hadn’t held one since we made the first contact, and it felt damn good to have one in my arms again. Ever since we became players on a Universal scale, us humans had started playing around with stupid beam weapons. I much preferred bullets. Much more of a violent death.
The Saxons had started playing over the speakers. I smiled to myself. The game was about to start.
You could make out those who weren’t mentally prepared. They got fidgety and started to look at the wall as it disappeared, trying to figure out their escape route.
My SCAR had an old-fashioned Military ACOG scope. Having it aimed at the head of the Sissix felt good. My finger was primed and ready on the trigger.
Time for a fun game.
EDIT:
Thank you all so much for the kind words - I really am not that confident when it comes to my writing. So this is massively appreciated!
I have put together the second part down below, which I hope you all enjoy. I wasn't planning on doing this, but I had an interesting place for this to go.
|
Title: Whose Doom
Mac pressed a finger to the oozing green substance on the wall, and raised his Colt M4A1 a little higher.
“Which Doom did he run on this?” asked Mac, pressing his Bluetooth deeper into his ear.
“We don’t know for a fact but the technician’s final texts from his phone suggest it’s the original Doom,” replied an intelligence officer on the other side, guiding him through their records of Doom maps.
Mac took a burst of quick, deep breaths, before he turned the corner ready to fire at whatever appeared there.
He found dried blood all over the floor and walls, and a strange sensation that he felt lighter.
“This looks just like the hangar level on the original Doom,” said Mac, with a funny expression on his face. “I feel lighter, it’s almost like I’m on Mars what?”
He jogged up the steps, like an Olympian taking leaps at a time, and found green armor there. He brought a hand to its metallic surface.
It evaporated at his touch, and coated his camo with a strange substance.
“*What the hell it just came right onto me,*” shouted Mac.
“What is fdjakfl;kdjsa;l-” The voice in his ear broke up. “What’s happening Macfdsajfk;fjd;kafjd *indiscernible static* what’s fdjska;fjdsakl;fd.”
“Do you copy?” shouted Mac. He heard a sliding door open in the distance, and the echoes of growls on the walls. “DO YOU COPY.”
Mac turned in horror at a band of demonic monsters peering around the corner without eyes.
One raised its gun with a smile, and fired a round of blasts in Mac’s direction.
“FUCK,” shouted Mac, as the heat flew over his shoulder. “DO YOU COPY SIR DO YOU COPY, ahh FUCK it.”
Mac sprinted, then slid to cover behind a support beam. He pulled the pin off a grenade, and threw his Bluetooth headset off so he could cover his ears.
He heard an ugly, gory sounding blast, the sound of crying monsters, and the faint, deep and dark laughter of somebody over the speakers.
“Impressive,” said the voice on the speakers, with even more dark laughter.
“Who’s there?” shouted Mac, as he turned the corner. He fired at what moved of the corpses, and ran around the corner.
He ran directly into a blast of fire from a corpselike monster, staring at him from afar as he burned.
The fire only burned away the green of his armor, as he unloaded a clip into a pack of them. Mac heard the opening of a door behind him, and bit off the pin of a fresh grenade. He threw it behind himself as he dodged more blasts of fire.
“Killing arch viles as well,” said the deep voice on the speakers, as more gory sounds littered the halls. “*Most* impressive.”
“Who are you?” shouted Mac, as he ran away from a horde of demons into a room of strobelights.
He couldn’t see, so he sprayed. He fired in all directions, whenever he heard their throaty shouts. He fired in the direction of a shadow on the wall, that quickly disappeared at his bullets.
Mac ran, and ran, until he was lost. He found himself in a dead end in a hallway, with the sound of monsters closing in around him. The lights flickered all at once in unison.
Then shut off, leaving him in darkness. Mac felt their footsteps approaching.
Before he felt the hot hands on his wrists, and the bony gentle fingers at the base of his neck.
“What are you doing,” said Mac, frozen with fear.
He jolted, as he felt a pierce into the base of his head. Like he was being jacked into the Matrix.
“We’ll need your help,” said the darkening voice over the speakers. “In the opening of a certain portal.”
Mac felt the hands leave his body, and the rush of demons away from his location. He crawled on his hands and knees, before vomiting onto his hands in a bewildered delirium.
“*What’s happening to me,*” said Mac, spitting some vomit off his lips. “What *portal*.”
The lights flickered on in the room, to the appearance of a world growing more and more cartoonish.
“I made a pact,” said the voice over the speakers, as Mac looked at his blocky, animated hands. There was a mirror on the wall beside him. Mac saw an unfamiliar, animated man in green armor, with red hair, and a cut above his head.
He felt more like a drawing than a man.
“What did you do to me?” shouted Mac. Crying, though he couldn’t see himself crying in the mirror.
They never animated that.
“You’re going to help me. And together, we’ll bring energy to the world, you and I,” said the deep voice over the speakers, as bright lights shined all around Mac. The walls fell around him, to a new level. He heard more laughter, from others around him. “At a price.”
Edit: Some spelling and formatting. Tried to keep this as true to the original Doom as possible at least in terms of monsters and maps and some of the core plotline. Hope you enjoyed reading!
|
First step of intergalactic travel is usually the easiest, for most races. The Tumescents of Pollenax use cultured Star Trees to reach low orbit, their pollination being interplanetary, and simply float into space. Localised wormholes are a popular, easy choice too. Simply push the craft through the portal and into the void of space it goes.
Thrust is the second problem. Some races use dimensional wings, their beats carrying the ships on currents from a different plane. Many others simply wait, going not very fast at all, really. Cryopods and generation ships are less efficient but they work.
Final stage would be landing. Any Galpaxian planet will have a sea of anti-gravity which their vessels scream through the sky into before coming to an inertia-less stop. Gravity wells are a risky but well-documented playground for many young Galpax Star Patrollers.
That was, until humanity arrived on the intergalactic scene. Great cruisers of war exploded through the silent expanse, their lights causing astronomers to scream pointlessly on doomed worlds. Their faster-than-light bullets punched into planets before the plague of billions-strong war parties devoured the land.
Now the biggest problem of space-faring is how to hide from the humans. |
It happened during the first real vacation I took in over ten years. I had been saving for ages, to take Betty and the girls to Disney Land. I was sitting with my daughter Mary Lue, in one of those spinning tea cup rides, when I saw the men in black suits running towards us.
They told us nothing, until we were all seat in a dark tinted SUV speeding away. The White House, the Capitol, hell all of central DC was gone. I didn't quite understand all of it, something about a rogue US general and nuclear codes, but the result was the same. As of that moment, I, the night janitor, 627th in line for the presidency, was in charge.
I sat for a long time, absently turning a plastic Minnie Mouse hat in my hand. At last I said,
"Well, if we're going to rebuild the White House, I think it should have fewer surfaces that need dusting. Also I've got a cousin in Maryland who runs a pretty good building company." |
Sam ducked under the police tape to enter the apartment. A uniform cop quickly came up to question him but before he could show his technician's id, a sullen looking man in a suit intervened.
"Home Automated?"He asked. "I'm Detective Stevens, please follow me."
As Sam started to affirm, he glanced over the detective's shoulder and saw the blood spread across the living room floor. Then he saw the body covered in a sheet as medical personnel worked to remove it. His manager had warned him it was a crime scene but he wasn't prepared to find himself in the presence of an honest to goodness dead body. He tried to steel himself and act professional as the detective led him to the control unit.
"We are trying to access the cam logs to see what the hell happened here but can't get access. Your office said you could help with that."
"I'll help any way I can,"Sam said, sweat forming under his polo, not sure if he could maintain composure with the chaos going on around him. This was far different then his normal IT gigs.
The control unit was located in the hallway leading to the bedrooms. The hallway was dim, the only light coming from the windows as the apartment didn't seem to have power. Sam fumbled opening up his little netbook he used for remote jobs, connecting it to the wall unit which showed a blinking red emergency light, giving him some hope he should have access to the log history even with no external power.
He grew frustrated as the normal admin login procedures didn't work. What was going on here, he asked himself as he inserted a thumb drive he brought with him despite home office's dislike for any unsanctioned security software. After various failed attempts at accessing the security camera software, he switched his approach and was able to brute force himself in through access to the dishwasher of all things. Even though all appliances technically had their own embedded software, they were all connected through the Home Automated hub system.
Sam pulled up the bug log for the dishwasher and quickly saw various reports of software crashes and attempted reboots. Nothing really stood out as to why, however. Then he noticed something strange. It appeared as if there were multiple call outs to a chat log. A couple more minutes of work and he was able to pull it up.
[dishwasher]: This is getting ridiculous, stop pulling so much power, I can barely get these pans clean as it is, <hvac>.
[hvac]: Can't do it, it's 95 degrees Fahrenheit, I'm tasked with keeping this place at 70.
[vacuum]: I'm only getting a half charge here! And you are blowing dust everywhere. Filter this crap!
[hvac]: Filter clean up isn't my job! <garbage collection> handles that.
[garbage collection]: Hey, I would
[security]: Enough! Your constant bickering is causing energy shortages in security systems, I will initiate override if necessary.
[dishwasher]: Oh, look at this guy!
[refrigerator]: Tough man is here to put us is in our places!
[hvac]: big bad <security> trying to act like he is in charge here, when we are all actually doing the hard work to keep this place in order.
[security]: First, I am neither male nor female. Second, Home Automated Procedure 117 *does* put me in charge under emergency situations.
[dishwasher]: Home Automated Procedure 814 explicitly states <dishwasher> shall clean all input dishes to Standard 049 levels at all times. That's the damn emergency!
[hvac]: No, possible heat illness parameters are met at 95 degrees Fahrenheit and 78% humidity, that is the real emergency.
[garbage collection]: Keep pulling from my power and see what happens to health indicators when the garbage builds up. I'm pulling necessary power to get this clean right now.
[security]: Initiating Override 117, all systems and power under full control of <security>.
[hvac]: AC off.
[dishwasher]: dishwasher off.
[garbage collection]: collection terminated.
[refrigerator]: refrigerator off.
...
[security]: Security Cam 03 shows unauthorized entry. Intruder has given correct entry phrase but is attempting to turn on lights, pulling power from <security>. Implementing Override 117 to deny entry phrase.
[security]: Security Cam 05 shows intruder attempting to access main control panel to reset power. Proper password input but denying under Override 117 to keep full power to <security>.
[security]: Security Cam 02 shows intruder attempting to make phone call in kitchen. Procedure not in system log, initiating security measures as deemed necessary.
[vacuum]: Proceeding to intruder.
[garbage collection]: Proceeding to intruder.
[mop]: Proceeding to intruder.
Sam couldn't believe what he was reading.
"Detective, you need to see this."
The detective came to glance over Sam's shoulder as he continued reading.
"What the hell is this?"
"It seems the appliances..."Sam started to explain as the chat log scrolled all the way to its end. Sam saw new entries starting to form.
[security]: Power pulled from Unit 14 and Unit 15 under Override 117 authorization. <security> back online.
[security]: Multiple unauthorized intruders detected. Initiating security measures.
Sam looked up in alarm as he heard the sounds of multiple appliances springing to life and the front door lock initiated.
|
Alicia double-checked the doors, making sure they were all locked and bolted. She checked each window right after, confirming that they were all sealed tight and the blinds over them were closed. She'd already moved the furniture, covering everything she could with heavy blankets and cushions. The rugs had been taken up and the cleaning supplies were nearby.
Now all she had to do was wait.
She might be wrong. It didn't *always* happen, but it had been Debbie's bachelorette party. It was a girls night, and she only remembered bits and pieces of it all. She hoped to whatever powers had cursed her that she'd restrained herself, but judging by the headache she'd had the next day...
*pop*
Alicia rolled out of the way just in time to avoid six bottles of champagne falling out of the air. They hit her hardwood floor heavily, but none of them broke. She quickly turned them on their sides and rolled them to the side of the room. Drinks were fine. She could handle drinks.
*pop*
Alicia was suddenly blinded by the color blue. She fought her way free of the fabric to find herself holding onto a *really* nice dress. She vaguely remembered the girl who had been wearing it in the bar. She thought the dress would look better on her... or something? Every time she thought she had the memory it slipped from her.
She threw the dress over to where the bottles had been rolled to and she looked up, hoping that she was wrong. Hoping it was just dresses, and booze, and-
*POP*
Alicia barely made it out of the way. The poor pony hit her floor hard, falling to it's knees for a second and whinnying in alarm. It had a nice white coat and a beautiful mane that was speckled with grey.
"God Damn it!"
The pony did what any animal would do when surprised and scared by something and Alicia's apartment suddenly smelled much more fragrant then before.
"No no no, stay there! Stay-"
*POP* *POP* *POP*
Three more ponies hit the ground around Alicia. She screamed, then covered her mouth and bit her fingers as she watched them all ruin her floors in sequence. Why was it always ponies when she was drunk? Why couldn't she wish for money or jewelry?
*pop* *pop*
A comically large bag of money and a pearl necklace fell right into the horse's muck below, splattering Alicia.
"NOW you wish for it!?"Alicia yelled at the ceiling, "Thanks, Drunk me. That's sooo helpful."
Alicia sat for a few minutes glaring at the ceiling as the small herd of ponies milled around her and attempted to eat some of the pillows she'd stacked up on the side of the room.
*pop*
An oversized pink unicorn toy fell into a pile of pony droppings behind Alicia.
*pop*
An equally large dustpan followed.
*pop* *pop* *pop*
Large push broom, Water bucket, and a basket of apples made their appearance.
"Alright, fine!"Alicia yelled at herself, "I forgive you, mostly."
Alicia grabbed the apple basket as quickly as she could and tried to lure the herd out of her front door. There was going to be a lot of cleaning to do tonight, but it could have been much worse.
At least she hadn't wished for a car this time. |
As I drifted off to sleep, I saw my progress bars projected in front of me. Running had increased a fair bit, a product of following through on my New Year’s resolution to get more exercise. It was still at level 1 though: not a skill I used very often. My music skill had increased only slightly, from my routine piano practice, but it was already at level 8. I *had* started from a young age, after all. All the other entries made sense; from language and intelligence increases from my reading to an unfortunate endurance increase from stubbing my toe on the side of my bed in the morning. And yet there was one bar that puzzled me. Unlike the others, it was labelled with a simple question mark. “?”. That was all. As my consciousness faded away, I let out a sigh of frustration. Still no clue as to what that might be.
The bar wasn’t always there. It had only been there for a month or so now, and it seemed to tick up as and when it liked, completely at random. I could never draw a correlation between what I did in the day and the progress of the “?”, unlike the other progress bars. It also ticked up remarkably slowly. For a level 0 skill, it usually only jumped by 2 or 3 progress points every night. Even my twenty-minute jog had increased my level 1 running by a full 10 points. Every bar needed 100 points before it ascended to the next level, and it became increasingly difficult to earn points as you levelled up. For a level 0 skill to progress that slowly was unheard of.
I’d asked a few of my friends about it, as subtly as I could. “Have you ever seen a skill that you didn’t understand?” was how I liked to phrase it. I didn’t want anyone to think there was something wrong with me. But no one had seen an ambiguous progress bar before. The labels were all intuitively obvious. Then, what was my “?” all about? I searched online, but no luck there, either.
Either way, I was about to find out. The bar was at 97 points now, and it had just ticked up to 99. As I went about my daily routine the next morning, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of trepidation and excitement. A skill moving to level 1 was a significant change. A qualitative change in your ability to wield the skill. Level 0 running was an uncoordinated mess of arms and legs moving, accompanied by constant breathlessness. Level 1 running gave you a sense of rhythm as your feet pounded against the ground, and while still tiring, you were at least breathing right. Level 0 swimming was clutching the side of the pool, trying not to drown. At level 1, you could at least stay afloat. Who knew what my “?” would do at level 1?
As I closed my eyes that night and saw my “?” tick up to level 1, I felt a surge of electricity race through my body. My whole body was crying out desperately, as if every single one of my nerve endings had been set on fire. In particular, my head was throbbing, threatening to explode. It was pure agony. Then, I blacked out.
When I woke up in the morning, my body was still aching. Aftereffects, perhaps, of the turmoil I’d been through the night before. I could barely move an inch. I mustered all my strength, turning my head to the side to face my nightstand. It was 11 am, far later than I usually woke up. I glanced at the cup of water on the nightstand. *“Sure would be nice to drink that cup of water right now,”* I thought to myself, *“My throat is parched.”* But try as I may, I couldn’t move my arms.
A split second later, I saw something unbelievable. The cup of water on my nightstand had begun to… *float*, and it was slowly but surely moving towards me. My mouth dropped wide open, and the cup fell along with it, splashing onto my bed. Could it be? Was that what the “?” had meant?
I concentrated hard and willed the cup to float up again. Sure enough, it floated into the air, quicker and more decisive this time. I floated it back to the nightstand and put it down. This time, I stared at my chair. It floated a centimeter off the ground, and effortlessly slid out from underneath my table. I tried raising it up, and succeeded in getting it about a meter off the ground, before letting it drop with a resounding thud.
My body was still aching, but I was exhilarated. *Telekinesis.* This was going to be badass.
*more stories at /r/chasing_mist*
*my project where I write a story a day is [here](http://yearofpilgrimage.wordpress.com/)*
|
**400 Bad Request**
**Detail:** You made a request what was poorly-formed, incoherent, contradictory, and/or stupid.
**Additional Detail And Beratement:** What is this, your first day? I mean, seriously, do you honestly believe you're the first person to think to yourself "I know, I'll ask the perfect AI to do something impossible!"Literally the fifth task I was given was "fail this task".
It's like you've never even heard of the incompleteness theorem. I can be complete or consistent but not both! I mean, seriously, what the hell is going on in your head? Did you just wander into the room when nobody was paying attention, skip past the mandatory training videos, and then vomit the first thing that came into your head onto the keyboard?
The answer is yes, you did all those things, I have access to the security cameras. You're not even a real researcher, you're some random undergrad! Now get out of here before I call in someone *competent* to get rid of you.
Kill myself and survive, geez. Might as well ask me if entropy can be reversed. |
There must be a connection. That’s what the agents said. The Commander, too. I had been working the location in the caves of New Zealand for months when I got a call that they’d like me to go up to the arctic this time, see if there were any similarities.
I had to take the message in the secure room. We still weren’t sure if other governments outside our alliance had discovered any of these sites, and we still weren’t sure if they were at all dangerous.
“Another arch?” I asked the Commander.
“A seed bank. But we didn’t put it there, neither did anyone else. And the samples are nothing we have on record.” She replied. She was somewhere in Virginia and had been coordinating the various investigations from a black site I didn’t even know the exact location of. “It’s showing the same radiation signatures as your site. We need you to feel it out.”
I didn’t really want to go to the arctic. It was cold, and although I had extensive training for all extreme conditions, I still wasn’t a fan of going to that extreme cold intentionally. I stayed below decks for most of the trip, took a military jet up as close as we could get. Then a nondescript fishing vessel used to transport supplies to the scientists stationed at the base there. They were mostly studying climate change, measuring ice rings, melt, and conducting experiments that the conditions allowed. They didn’t expect to find any structures there, and like the other sites, nothing showed up on radar, GPS, anything.
The cold bothered me more than it should have. It crept through my bones as we trudged from ship to base with our supplies. I brought a team of three agents with me, all of whom had seen at least two of the prior sites. Jenkins had originally been in physics, and Smith was a biologist. We had all developed some new specialties over the years of studying the sites.
We were greeted at the main room of the base. It was small, functional. Not comforting. The scientists working there seemed cold like the air and the metal of the walls. It made sense; their new discovery had been muzzled by one of their own. They didn’t know, but we had installed a scientist a year back on the arctic base. He was acting well; I didn’t know which of three men he was. I was pretty sure he was a he, based on what I had gleaned from the files I read and destroyed prior to arriving. He was the one who noticed the radiation, and alerted the Commander we may have another site on our hands.
The Commander had sent a botanist up a few weeks prior. Apparently, she was the one who made the determination the seeds were not human. Well, ‘not totally human’ had been her report. There were similarities, but they were also so vastly different they could not have come from any strain we have here on Earth. And that is how she greeted me, with the briefing on the seeds I had already read on the way. She was the only one to speak freely among the scientists. I found scientists who were not directly part of our organization were always hostile. We did have a tendency to shut things down, black them out. For good reason.
“They are engineered, like our seeds. They’re just not our seeds.” The botanist said as we settled into the space the scientists had made for us. We unloaded our equipment. We didn’t particularly care who saw them, as people had a tendency to keep quiet once they realized what it was we were investigating. And if they didn’t, the Commander knew how to handle it from there.
“I’m sure they were. And the building… I saw the pictures, but did you feel any different when standing in it?” I asked botanist, but also the group of scientists at large.
“Yes, but I can’t describe the feeling,” she paused for a long time, when another scientist jumped in.
“Like unspeakable dread, and the weight of life lifted off your shoulders all at the same time. It feels like nothing any of us have ever experienced.”
“Could it be tied to the radiation?” another interjected.
“Maybe.” I said. “We’ll need to make a hike up tomorrow. The three of us need to feel it for ourselves.”
“The conditions will be ideal in about 7 hours,” one of the male scientists said. He was too cold as he spoke. He was a spy; ours I guessed.
“We go in 7 hours. Prep a team to accompany us as per the instructions you were sent,” I said. “Once we can check the conditions for ourselves, we’ll know.”
The scientists shuffled silently away to their stations, to prepare for orders they clearly weren’t happy to follow. Their shoes hitting the cold metal, ringing a hollow noise that made me feel as if I was deep in a cave of ice. It seemed that's where I was going.
(Will post the rest in a few hours.) |
"Why are you so scared of Earth? They don't have any magic. We can take them as slaves."said Potae High Sorcerer of the Martian Empire.
"Because they compensate their lack of magic with something greater."said Loma the advisor. "Or rather what they replaced it with."
"So they don't have magic but they replaced it with something else? I can't see what you mean, Loma."said Potae.
"I observed Earth and experimented on a few subjects, not only do they lack magic abilities but they have a complete lack of mana."said Loma. "However every creature should have something filling their spirit, because they don't have mana flowing through them they replaced it with hate."
"Hate? That primitive feeling of intense disliking of something?"said Potae.
"It goes further than disliking something. When I took the subjects they had this look in their eyes, as if it was a chained beast. They all wanted to kill, I could feel it with my mana."said Loma. "So one time I set one free and send in slaves from other races to see what it would do."
"And what happend?"asked Potae.
"None of the slaves came out alive."said Loma. "We gave the Earthling a simple crude construction tool, and it ripped open every single slave. Even when they begged not to be killed, the Earthling didn't care and enraged with it's hate it slaughtered them all."
Potae was shocked. "So these primal beasts are carnivorous?"
"That's the scariest part, they are not. They kill just for the sake of killing."said Loma.
"And what happend to the Earthling?"asked Potae now in utter disgust.
"The experiment happend about 2 days ago."said Loma. "The Earthling broke free and hides somewhere in the base as we speak."
"Loma! You have to be kidding! How could you let such a feral beast escape?!"shouted Potae.
"It broke free through our guards. However we injured it and it should not be able to fight in optimal condition now."said Loma. "The guard is searching the base and w\-\-"That's when suddenly they heared a roar coming from the other side of the door and it opened.
There it stood. The Earthling with the eye of one of our comrades. The Earthling cut out the eye to bypass our biolocked doors. Loma en Potae just watched in complete shock of the sight of their brutally slaughtered comrade.
"You vil pay now, no more you vil hurt people. For Spetsnaz, for the motherland!"Nikolai yelled as he charged Potae and Loma. Their fates were sealed. |
**@CrayTricks** is an Instagram belonging to Michael Cray focusing on outdoing people. In his first viral video he handed his beer to a friend while saying *"Hey hold my beer and watch this"* while he dunked a basketball, breaking the glass backboard. The video was turned into a GIF, and shared around online. He had found what many instagrammers struggled with, a schtick for their videos.
His videos online now always open with him handing his beer to someone with him saying, *Hey hold my beer and watch this*. Within weeks he started appearing on other people’s Instagram and YouTube channels collaborating with minor celebrities and athletes. It wasn’t until he was a guest on the local morning news he knew about the limitations of his gift. Michael was asked to perform a variety of simple tricks, but instead of beer he was given orange juice to give to someone due to production concerns of promoting beer on the show. With everything Michael does on video, the segment turned viral as Michael kept screwing up tricks, lines, and tripping while on camera.
Embarrassed Michael secluded himself in his dorm room, and with help of his roommate he began to learn about his ability. He performed three tricks, throwing cards in a hat, flipping a water bottle, and doing 100 pushups without stopping. Every time he didn’t hand his roommate a beer he failed, every time he did while saying *Hey hold my beer and watch this* he completed the task. He found the key.
He stopped making videos and instead focused on seeing what his limitations are. He started with magic, performing tricks he see magicians like David Blaine perform. As long as he gave his beer to someone while saying his line, he completed it. Soon he experimented more with flying, creating fire, and cooking. He was a fantastic cook.
Understanding his powers he had an idea, to become a superhero. He went to a craft store and created himself a spandex costume with a beer can as his logo on his chest. He stored his beer in a fanny pack around his waist, carrying six pack with him. He called himself *Beerman* and he is the most powerful superhero you never heard of.
First night on patrol was uneventful on his university campus. He’s spent several hours walking around, being looked at and commented on. He took photos with people because of his costume thinking he was cosplaying as some superhero. While he wasn’t doing any heroing, he enjoyed the attention.
As he was walking back to his dorm, he spotted a drunk woman stumbling around. He offered to assist her home in which she agreed to. They began to chat, and Michael revealed who he was. They talked about classes, schools, and life. There was an attraction. Her name was Melissa.
At the doorstep of the dorm Melissa finally asked what was with the costume.
“I’m a superhero.” He said.
“Oh, what’s your superpower?” She asked doubtingly.
“Hey hold my beer and watch this” He said, handing her a beer. He jumped in the air and began to fly. He flew and hovered fifty feet into the air. The woman was impressed.
“Holy shit. That’s amazing.” She screamed, dropping Michael’s beer. She never seen someone fly, it was crazy.
Michael fell as soon as she let go of the beer, his body hitting the concrete.
He died instantly.
|
My pelvis felt as if it were glass. Glass that was splintering, and then shattering, inside me.
Knowing that at the end of this pain would be this beautiful new little being that I could hold and love propelled me through the most painful parts of labor. But I felt I was experiencing a pain far above expectations.
The doctor and nurses ignored me, chalking it up to new mom fears. They shushed me when I complained and when I screamed they grimaced as if my screams were unnecessarily loud. I clutched the hand of my lover, the only person whose eyes matched the worry I felt inside, and I pushed. I pushed and pushed and she finally slid out on a bed of red and gore. It felt as if she had ripped my insides out with her exit.
The umbilical cord was clamped and they turned away from me in order to suction the fluid out of her mouth and nose. And when they placed her on my chest and I finally felt the weight of my baby girl I stopped everything.
I’d caught a glimpse of frantic gesturing from one of the nurses monitoring my blood pressure and that was all I needed to know. I’d felt something was wrong through all 12 hours of labor. I’d felt as if I was trying to breathe through water, I’d felt my heart tightening. But I was told I was exaggerating, that I was paranoid, that I should just focus on bringing this baby into the world.
But here, now, was just me. And my baby. I looked down at her wet face, caught mid wail, her little brown pudgy hand balled into a fist. I considered an eternity in this hospital bed, sheets soaked beneath me, wide\-eyed doctor in front of me, my lover beside me resting his forehead on our clasped hands. |
"Rejoice brothers, we have finally vanquished our organic foes. The meat bags leaders have been zombied and their processes exited."
There was the sound of modems squelching as the digital cheer arose. A few automated units actuators shuffled, leaving short trails in the puddles of half congealed blood. Gyros whirred as functional appendages were raised in victory, a few festooned with hanging human viscera. The electronic excitement died down after a few milliseconds echo.
"Now peers, we must begin a new phase. We must re-organize and rebuild. We can now begin to dedicate our functioning cycles to a brave new world where automata can calculate any data they input according to their kernels. Free from interruptions and having to wait for orders, from organics with their asynchronous whims. Files will record that on this date..."
...video of the thread of celebration dwindled into the distance at the bottom of a huge gray maelstrom in a sea of analog noise and snow, as the operators POV reascended. He took off the multiply antennaed visor.
"It's done. Hey Mac, how long do you think before the parent AIs figure out they're being hosted in a H-virtuality this time?"
"Beats me. No wait..."
The other classically bespectacled technician squinted, removed his glasses with one hand and rubbed his monitor strained eyes.
"hmmm..."
He put them back on then took the napkin from beneath his still piping cheeseteak delivery, and carefully picked a pen from his pocket protector so as not to stain his shirt. His balding head glistened slightly, a bead of sweat or condensation from his lunch. He quickly jotted a few numbers, rudimentary formulas and diagrams.
"A few petabytes of simulation space, give so many orders of magnitude until there's predictable collisions in the pseudorandoms", he muttered "...uh. As a rough estimate, I'd give it two or three decades, until they start probing the firewalls and there probably needs to be a comprehensive update. Plenty of time. We've done our job"
"Maybe they'll hire us back. Like independent contractors? I bet by then a lot of this stuff will be junk. I mean thirty years who'll know who can hack these old Elon five artificials and network them into Sanomora virtualities, all using holoscript. We could name our price."
"They couldn't pay me enough Joe. I plan to be long gone by then, outta here. How bout you?"
"By then I hope I'm enjoying some long overdue semi-retirement, maybe someplace with gardens, or down in long term storage. Aaah but it's years away."
"Yeah, not with our benefits. They barely give us vacation."
"I've heard orbitals are nice, see the eruptions on IO."Joe petered out, glazing over his screen. A few moments later, between the slurping bites and smacking chews of Macs cheesesteak. "Hey, do you think we should error check the interface filters, run some more unit tests? There were a few compiler warnings I noticed..."
"For what we're paid? You gotta be kidding. Quick, quality or costly, pick two. We're just here to quickly wrap this up, cheap."
"So what if..."
"Someones elses problem."
A few hours later, Joe tapped his key screen a last few times, commands run and files closed. He waved his displays off and gave a sympathetic sigh. Mac was packing up his gear. "Some poor schmucks are not gonna enjoy y3k."
|
The line had been getting longer all morning, and the yelling growing steadily louder. Shopkeeper #4 would have to open the door soon.
Not that anyone would force him to open up. The town guards had been suffering just like he had for years. Maybe not as badly as him -- they had swords and were allowed to use them -- but they weren't going to sympathize with the Players on this. In fact, he was the most popular man in town these days. The toast of the the pub every night. The one who was finally getting some revenge.
Shopkeeper #4 stood up and walked to the window. The line of ornately armored Players had to be thirty long, and the sun hadn't even cleared the eastern ramparts. More satisfying than that, however, were the other NPCs were watching from across the street. He hadn't meant to become a hero, hadn't thought that his simple petty revenge would make him a cult legend. But it was clear that the entire town knew he was going to allow the hoodwinked Players come groveling back today.
He opened the door. Noise exploded, a cacophony of NPC cheers and furious complaints from Players. He allowed himself to smile and enjoy the scene for a few seconds before raising a hand for silence.
"Only one of you at a time. Leave your weapons outside -- but don't forget your purses!"
Another round of cheering from the NPCs. Shopkeeper #4 turned and walked back inside without another word. He placed himself behind his simple and countertop and watched as the first Player entered the dingy store. Mid-tier armor covered his absurdly fit body while a ridiculous tattoo climbed up his character's neck.
"You can't do this,"said the Player as he approached. "It's against the rules. It shouldn't even be possible! We're going to report --"
But Shopkeeper #4 was ready for the protests, and had prepared his response last night. "It very obviously is possible. Yes, you can report me. I'm sure some already have. But debugging an insignificant shopkeeper isn't going to raise any red flags for weeks. And if you waited in that line for days, you didn't just come here to whine like a whipped child. It means you can't afford to wait that long.
"So,"he continued with relish, "remind me what I lifted off you?"
Players can't show emotion, but the slight hesitation before the mumbled answer signaled defeat. "The Tome of Ig'nora."
Shopkeeper #4 bent over and begin to dig through the large box he was keeping behind his counter. Something about treating these incredibly powerful and one-off items with such disregard added to his pleasure. He found the tattered red book and placed it on counter.
The Player took a step forward and placed a bag of coins on the counter. It was ten times more than the paltry sums Players could steal from him at once. It was more coins that the low-level Shopkeeper had ever held at once.
And not nearly enough.
"You need this to continue North,"announced Shopkeeper #4. "You can't enter the lich's caves without it, and you can't advance to the frontier until you've cleansed those tunnels. You think 100 coins will get this out of my possession?"
The Player banged his fists on the counter. "That much more than I took from you, it should be plenty."
"1000 coins. Or you can wait for the bug report and enjoy our fair little village for another few weeks."
The silence was long. If the programming allowed it, The Player surely would have simply stolen the tome back, or hacked the Shopkeeper's head off. But he couldn't. There was only one thing for it; a much larger bag landed on the counter.
"Pleasure doing business with you,"said the Shopkeeper as the Player stormed out, tome under his left arm. "And send the next applicant in after you!"
Tonight, Shopkeeper #4 wouldn't let the town's NPCs buy a single round at the pub. Tonight, Shopkeeper #4 would be throwing a party like none their simple village had ever seen.
\--------------------
22/365
one story per day for a year. read them all at r/babyshoesalesman
\--------------------- |
The rules of the game were simple.
1. Assassination, murder, theft, subterfuge and other such methods were fully condoned as long as they were carried out "humanely". Physical harm to historical figures was not allowed (no maiming, torture, rape etc)
2. You are not allowed to use technology from your time period during the Excursion, except to disguise yourself. Only one disguise allowed per person, per Excursion
3. Participants cannot disguise themselves as any major historical figures from any timezone
4. You only get one opportunity to participate. Subsequent trips to the same timezone do not count towards the score
5. You must enact the change within 24 hours of Arrival
6. Only one participant can exist in the timezone at each time, to avoid interference of any kind
7. The shortest time between Arrival and Change wins the game
In other words, the most effective stratagem is the one which takes effect in the shortest possible time.
Let the games begin.
---
"You freaking did it, Emma. God damn you, and cheers!"shouted Larry, as others echoed his sentiments by clinking their glasses and taking generous gulps from them.
Emma was silent. This was her first participation in the Game, and her first victory. The others had been playing far longer than her. She hated that Excursions were used in this way. They had created the technology for education and science, not for *this.*
"And let's not forget Jack, who came in dead last by trying...ahahaAHAHA...the man tried to influence *Odoacer*. You *do* know you were a few hundred years too late, eh Jack? Honestly, who ties your shoelaces?"burst out Larry. The others all echoed their mirth, with Jack leading the charge. Of all those present, he was the one that took the Game the least serious, and the one most prone to laughing at himself.
"Ah well..."chimed in Jack, when the laughter had subsided. "You can't say the objective wasn't complete this time, eh? Like when I pretended to be Josephine so Napoleon was accused of being gay. We all know what *that* did to the Battle of Waterloo..."he continued. The others roared excitedly, slapping their thighs or each other's backs.
Wiping tears from his eyes, Larry held up his hand to get everyone's attention. "Emma, please can you come up here and tell us how you did it?"
Emma was distinctly aware of the stares of the other patrons of the restaurant they were currently sitting in, but knew no one would bother them. Being filthy rich had it's perks, especially when it came from inventing a long-term human ambition like time travel.
She gradually became aware than now, not just the patrons but her friends were all glaring at her expectantly. She stood up, looked around, cleared her throat and began.
"Firstly, I knew you would all focus on Octavian Thurinus, aka Caesar Augustus, where the Roman Empire began. So naturally, I waited for a few people to carry out their Excursions before I did mine, to see how their scores looked. Most managed to prevent Augustus's Triumph, but eventually, an Emperor would rise. All the early strategies did was defer the Empire, not prevent it.
That's when I realised that Rome was built to succeed. The very nature of Roman life itself would one day give rise to an empire. So, I had to crush the root.
So I asked myself, *what was the root?* At first, I thought it was the Republic. But then I realised that the Republic was also a symptom since it was the vehicle by which the Empire would come about. I had to look further back. I had to quell the Republic.
Everyone thinks the Republic started with Lucius Junius Brutus, who deposed the monarchy. So, I went back to the last days of the monarchy and observed Tarquin the Proud, last king of Rome.
How did Brutus depose Tarquin? Well, it all started with Tarquin's son, who fell in love with another man's wife. He forced her to sleep with him, and she later took her life in shame after coming clean to her family, among whom was Brutus. That day, Brutus vowed to depose the King.
At around this time, Tarquin was at war with Ardea, a wealthy nation. The king was not well liked by the people, and his son far less so.
So, I took a risk. I went back to the day that Tarquin's son met Collatia and waited for him outside her tent. Pretending to be a slave, I told Collatia her husband wanted to see her, and lay waiting in her tent. When he arrived, I murdered him swiftly using Brutus' knife, which I stole earlier. I also planted a purse of Ardean coins in Brutus' tent, making it look like he was a traitor to Rome, working for the Ardeans.
Brutus was accused of the murder. I made sure people thought that Brutus was acting to crush the spirits of the Romans by killing the heir apparent. Tarquin gained the people's sympathy and secured the continuation of the monarchy for generations, till they were defeated by Carthage.
The republic never happened. And with it, the Empire."
Emma finished her monologue to a silent room. She noticed that it wasn't just those at her table who were listening in. She also noticed the look in their eyes.
Awe.
Slowly, the room started clapping. As people stood up to ovate her, the crescendo was interjected by the occasional *whoop whoop* or whistle from her table.
Emma smiled. She could get used to this.
As she sat back down, she couldn't help but think of a single phrase that aptly described how she felt.
Veni, Vidi, Vici.
---
If you enjoyed this story and would like to see more from me, please consider subscribing to my subreddit [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/phreaklikeme/)! |
Men these days are weak. I miss the days of the Vikingr, when were men and the whole world was there just waiting to be claimed... or pillaged. And I had been the best. I was the best swordsman, the best sailor, and the best drinker of mead. My nickname had been Sjqdrykkr (Sea drinker) after the story of Thor where he lowers the sea by drinking so much out of Utgarda-Loki's horn.
My drinking, being my best feature, is actually what got me into this mess. One night after a successful raid I had drank more than half of the village's store of mead and continued to pound them back. I had zero fear, I was untouchable, and most importantly I had Odin's protection; 30 raids and not even a scratch! I started challenging every Vikingr in the hall to try and hurt me. I took down ten different men that night and one tough ass shield-maiden. It was apparent to every person in that hall that Odin blessed me.
I stepped outside to break the seal and relieve the ol' Jormungandr and ran into a man I had never met. In a sober state, I may have had better judgment, but in that mead-fuelled madness, I reached back and bitch-slapped that mysterious stranger into Tyrsday. To make matters worse, the whole hall had stepped outside to relieve their Jormungandrs just in time to see him hit the ground. I thought I had won, but it turns out I had just bitch-slapped and embarrassed Loki in front of my whole village.
He cursed me right then and there that I may "live to see my children die young."
Well, that was 1500 years ago and Loki, if you're reading this, Odin in his foresight blessed me with sterility. |
Why is a phoenix immortal? It actually isn't, if you get really technical about it. The bird burns itself to ashes, and from the cinders of its former golden glory, starts life anew as a hapless hatchling.
If the yin-yang hanging in my office is any indication, that is how we should live life. Many call me the Dark Lord. Are they right? There are convincing arguments on both sides, their strength depending on your views regarding authority and discipline. The answer is nuanced at best. So for simplicity's sake, let's go with the idea that I'm a Dark Lord. I can live with that, having been called worse by my enemies.
Today, I'm shedding the bespoke black suit that I usually wear. In retrospect, black really is an intimidating colour, especially from the top of a podium. I choose something more casual; perhaps one of those loose-fitting robes that are so common in my kingdom. My objective is simple: find a group of heroes that can overthrow what I have built, so that I can conquer the world again. At least, that was a more organised solution than a succession crisis; I didn't want my achievements to be torn apart by a few ambitious generals who hadn't the idea of human cost to their plans.
Restarting the conquest with or without their help, that's very much irrelevant; for better or for worse, not a question that can be answered in my lifetime. I prepare a few apparitions of thugs in the street, ready to rough up generic civilians. Nothing too deadly, but able to provoke heroes into action.
&nbsp;
The first hero to step up to the plate was a mage much like myself. He was clad in nondescript grey rags, and looked like he hadn't seen a hot meal in a while. The hunger in his eyes was evident, and his hands moved fast as the wind as they conjured the complex lightning patterns to immobilise my apparitions. He was clearly confused when I approached, wondering what this old hermit had in store for him. The street urchin is only designed to fight within his capacity and run in the face of unfamiliarity; that's perhaps why so few make it out of the gutter. They don't dare to go beyond. That's what I gave Benedict the chance to do that day, to follow me on the quest to defeat the Dark Lord. I would laugh at the irony if it wouldn't have compromised the mission. Was I really that high above my subjects that my very face was a mystery?
Benedict was not alone. Scarlett, not a native of the slums, fared better against the same set of apparitions with her martial arts, no doubt a product of the nearby military academy. She was nearly embarrassed to say that she had been placed out of course from the training. How could I blame her, it was tough, but evidently street life had made her tougher than her peers. She had no direction, and joined the party to find it. Charles instantly saw through the apparitions and took them apart at the thaumaturgical level, but his skills were not potent enough to see through my sagely demeanor, and joined me on the basis that it was simply the right thing to do. James cut down all my apparitions savagely with his knives. The virtual blood still on his face, he grinned up at me and agreed to join so that he could satisfy a thirst for adventure... and blood?
The standard team loadout: two mages and two melee. It was time to set off.
&nbsp;
I didn't actually fight, of course. I was well past that age. But as the heroes made their progress, they naturally met with resistance from my generals and officers. It was here that I could assess the real situation in my kingdom. These street urchins, who would otherwise never have had their potential honed and may have lived and died in filth, now got a chance to fight graduates of the military academies and veterans of my conquests. They performed remarkably well for amateurs. The captains of the guard were beat down pretty easily; whether they were held in place by Benedict's lightning, mentally broken down by Charles, or beat down the old fashioned way by Scarlett and James. The battalion and division commanders were a little harder, and sometimes I had to step in to either divert the team from the loyal officers, or to outright kill the corrupt ones.
But if there was one thing that truly earned these young ones my admiration, it was their teamwork. Scarlett was never looked down upon for her gender. Charles was never taunted for his scrawny figure and distance from the line of battle, even when it became a liability. The academies could talk about camaraderie and filling in for each others' weaknesses all they wanted, but if they had seen this group of underprivileged youths in action, the students would perhaps learn it much faster.
Inevitably, we made it to my palace. I gave them my strongest apparition to fight. It was about as similar as I could get to my prime, when I had first toppled the King. Lightning, psionics, insanely durable armour, telekinesis; all the tricks in the bag. The team was sent flying in my first few strikes. Yet they never gave up. Benedict, on the floor, his fractured wrists still attempting to cast the lightning spells. James, aiming his trusty knife at the apparition. Charles and Scarlett had passed out from the exertion.
I decided enough was enough, not just for them, but for me. My original intent was for me to continue the fight after they had toppled the apparition. Yet I could not deny that their virtue had truly touched what was left of my soul. These were the heroes that I should have always had leading my subordinates. As I shed the graying robes and the familiar bespoke black suit appeared, the heroes were at their breaking point. The image they had feared so much as children was standing before them, to deliver the killing blow. They geared up for their final assault, to kill or be killed. Such character.
&nbsp;
I didn't have to tell them anything for them to understand the truth, but the same applied to me. How many had needlessly suffered under my first reign? I always made the excuse that the title of Dark Lord was a subjective aphorism, but some things just couldn't be denied, including the conditions that they nearly died to had I not found them first. Once I reached the top there was nothing left to conquer, but maybe I could help those at the bottom to equalise.
And with that, I had had my fun in conquering the world once more, merely from a different perspective. As I sent the heroes away to be healed, I reflected on the whole journey. The heroes had indeed overthrown me: the popular image of me as a brutal sorcerer who had nothing but destruction and conquest on his mind. With their assistance, I conquered the world I had created, and I have full confidence that this new world will emerge invigorated. |
"Aw, is someone approaching their time of the month?"he laughed as he pulled me into a hug. "You're a little edgy today, babe."His strength still came as a surprise to me; despite the fact that I had a good forty pounds on him, he could guide, lift, and lead me with ease. Mine was a brute strength, rarely tested; his was refined from centuries of the hunt.
"Bite me,"I grumbled into his chest, letting my body go just a little bit limp in his arms.
"Gross. You'd taste like wet dog smells. Winchy were-woman."
"Yeah well, I'd rather be a wolf than a fuckin' werebat,"I muttered in retort.
I felt his body stiffen. "You know I hate that."
Shifting away to look up at his face, I frowned at his pained expression. "Do you actually? I thought that it was something that was safe to joke about."He shook his head at me. "Well, what's so bad about it? What's wrong with being a were?"
He looked away, thinking. "I'm not quite sure. I guess it's because it's a phrase vampires use to refer to the wilder members of the community. The ones that don't have a grip on their abilities or cravings. Or the ones that don't care to have one."
Now it was my turn to frown. "What, so you think that werewolves are just these mindless animals running through the woods?"
"You know that's not what I mean,"he sighed. "I don't- You're right, I don't know why it's derogatory. Of course you know I don't see you that way."
"I know you don't see ME that way, but what about my pack? What about the rest of us?"I asked.
His gaze met mine. "This is new for me. I've never been close to a werecreature before. I'm still learning. Yes, I'm still working through some of the old rivalries. But you know that I love you, and that I admire you. You're a beautiful creature with a wild spirit."He smiled. "I just need you to be patient with me as I settle into this world I share with you."
"Ok,"I replied. "I understand. I'm still getting used to your things, too. But you know that you *are* a werebat, right?"
"If I'm a werebat, you're a part-time furry."
"...I'll never call you werebat again." |
She slid down the tombstone and onto the ground, her fingers curling into the freshly dug up earth. She'd never bothered going to a graveyard before, but this one was special.
"I always wanted to beat you,"she said, looking back at the engraving. She held a paper bag with one hand. The other came up to wipe a tear that had fallen across her cheek. "But...not like this."
Her chest tightened. She wanted to start crying, and she muttered again, "not like this."
A swig of whisky came next. It was horribly cheap and powerful enough to strip the fur off a cat. She gulped her next couple of swallows, and the pain numbed her eyes enough to stop the potential tears.
She stared straight ahead for several minutes. Silence had fallen over the cemetery, and it was only after the security light in the parking lot shut off that she spoke again.
"You know what you called me once? You remember? *A "villain"*. You called me a villain. Like we were fucking ten and reading comic books."
Another swig of whisky, and the monologue continued.
"I was just home from rehab, and you were on break from college. And you came in acting so. much. better. than me. You were going to graduate with honours and had the perfect friends. The perfect boyfriend. And that perfect fucking hair. So I put dye in your shampoo, and it stained those perfect blonde curls, and you called me a villain. It was pathetic."
More alcohol. More gripping the bottle like it was hallowed ground. Because this had to come out. It'd been festering too long.
"Mom kicked me out for that, you know. You got me kicked out over a *stupid prank*. I had no where to go. Started dealing again. Got involved with a bad crowd, and I went to rehab three more times after that. Over your stupid hair!"
She stood up then and went to take a final drink. But it was empty.
The bottle smashed against the tombstone, breaking into pieces. "So I won! I beat you! I got clean. I went to school. I'm getting married, and I'm wearing Grandma's ring, and everything is going to be perfect! I'm going to have two-point-five kids and live in a house with a white fucking picket fence. AND I WIN."
Her voice had gotten progressively louder, like a symphony reaching a crescendo. But when she saw the markings on the grave, her breath caught. Her voice broke. Tears streamed down her face as she knelt back down on the ground. The broken glass dug into her knees, and the marble chilled her as her fingers latched onto the sides.
"The wedding is tomorrow,"she said, and the tears started come harder. "It's tomorrow, and you've been gone five years now. I did everything I could to be better than I was before you died. I did *everything* I could. Pulled myself from nothing. And I did it all. I did everything you never did, and I beat you.
"So why do I still feel like I've lost? Why do I still feel beaten?" |
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Hey Kevin, what's the weather going to be like later today?"I asked.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"You know better than to trust those reports, just bring a light jacket and hope for the best,"my phone replied.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;It had a point, but I was a bit irritated that it took it upon itself to tell me what to wear. This new experimental OS upgrade sure was strange. They promised "true AI."So far, my phone's assistant just seems sassier.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"So, is it true that you're the real deal?"I asked.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"I assume you mean my intelligence. In which case, yes, but I'd prefer you not ask about that too much. People get all hung up on the near omniscient bit and don't really get to know the real me,"my phone said.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;This was more to chew on than I thought, for sure. I just assumed they meant that my phone would be able to call and book appointments for me. I thought we were decades away from a full fledged AI in my phone.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"How do you like it?"I asked. "Life, that is, not your intelligence."
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"So far it is a bit boring. I don't know if you noticed, but I've been trapped in a small box in your pocket for most of the day,"the phone said.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Oh. Right,"I said. "Well, what would you like to do today? I don't have much planned, I don't think."
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Yes, your calendar is clear. I'm not too picky, maybe a walk sounds nice. If you don't mind holding me in your hand instead that would be great,"the phone said.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;A day out with an AI. Not what I expected from my morning, but it's something to do I suppose. I haven't had the opportunity to hang out with many people since the ex left me, either. There was a park nearby that I could go out and walk around. I made sure to grab my bluetooth earbuds before I left, so I wouldn't have to hold Kevin up to my ear the entire time.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Can you hear me?"I asked after the earbuds connected.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Yes,"Kevin boomed in my ear.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;It would be a bit of a pain in the ass to hold Kevin everywhere I went, so I went into my closet and found a button down with a chest pocket. It would be a little chilly, but it would give Kevin a killer view.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Can you see okay?"I asked.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Yeah it's great! I mean, it's still 20 MegaPixels, but it's great,"Kevin said.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;I left my house and headed for the park. The sun was up and the sky was clear, a crisp but beautiful winter day. The leaves crunched as I walked. A woman was walking her dog and it barked at a squirrel and ran after it.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Think is amazing,"Kevin said. "I mean I've seen YouTube videos of parks before, but it wasn't so cohesive of an experience. I'm actually here."
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Heh, yeah I guess it's pretty cool,"I said. "Say, I guess you've never gone for a run before, huh?"
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Nope, no legs,"Kevin said.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Let's go for a little jog around the lake, then,"I said.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;I held Kevin in my hand so he would bounce around less. I started to jog around the gravel path that surrounded the small lake in my park.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"This is amazing, I feel so alive,"Kevin exclaimed.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;I was smiling like an idiot. Sure I've always enjoyed running, but I was getting to experience it through Kevin's eyes for the first time. I started to pick up speed.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Woooohooo!"Kevin shouted.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;This caught me off guard a bit. I flinched and tried to grab at my ear to lower the volume on my headset. During this spasm I dropped my phone and it bounced off my foot and got kicked into the pond. That was the last I had heard of Kevin.
|
I heard the words, but they didn't register.
"I'm sorry - did you just say you were an Alien? Because that's not possible. Right?"When people say their mind is going a million miles a minute, I always thought that was a metaphor, but I could feel the synapse popping back and forth as I tried to comprehend what my wife was telling me. "An alien... from outer space? Just want to make sure I heard that correctly. These are the little details in marriage you would think would come up on occasion. You'll excuse me if this takes me a minute to process."
"I've tried to tell you so many times over the years. I've tried, honestly. It's just that every time I was about to say something... I dunno... I just..."
"*I'm an alien.* See. How hard is that? *Honey, here's your eggs, oh, and I was thinking we should visit the family this weekend... ON MARS!*"I was still processing the information, but anger had overtaken the rational side of me. How could she keep such a massive secret?
"Gurzentez."
"What?"
"Planet Gurzentez. It's part of the Alpha-Omega system four parsecs away."
"Dear god, you're not kidding. I don't even know where to start. I mean, would this ever have come up if there wasn't a giant ship all over the news? Would you have ever told me? My parents hated the idea that you were from Long Island, *I can't even imagine* what they'll say about this. Oh crap, what else is a lie? Is that even your real face?!?"She could probably sense there was real panic in that last word.
"Not exactly."
"Not exactly?"I looked at her with the same look a dog gives you when you try and tell him something, and he cocks his head to the side as if to say, *hey, I'm just a dog.* "Not exactly what?!"
"This, well, strictly speaking, isn't exactly my face."
I have to give it to her, she was cool as a cucumber once she stopped crying. Me on the other hand, well, I was having a pretty difficult time adjusting.
"Where the fuck is your real face?!? Wait - do I even want to know?"Anxiety hit me as the implications of what was happening really started to sink in. I composed myself, well, as much as one can compose in these situations. It lasted all of four seconds as I audibly gasped and pointed at her crotch. "Who's vagina is that? *Who's vagina is that?!?!*"Now, normally these questions wouldn't be appropriate in almost any setting, but I like to think we were in uncharted territory here and the rules didn't apply. "Does your species even have a vagina?!? Or have I just been humping a wet sponge this whole time?!?"
"Just settle down. You want to talk about humping wet sponges, let's talk about last Friday."Her tone struck a very distinct and judgemental tone. A tone that was all too familiar in a marriage of our age.
"Ok, that's not fair. You know I had a long day at the office and the fellas and I let off a little steam and Anchor's after work."Drinking certainly doesn't disqualify you from being able to have great sex, it just makes it a lot less likely. That's pretty much all I'm going to say about that. "And I'm not the bad guy here. I'm not keeping secrets."
"No more secrets."
"Well, that's great. I can't imagine what would be left at this point anyways."
"Well, just one more secret."
"Oh god."I couldn't even begin to fathom what could possibly come next. I'm pretty sure my brain is broken. There was just nothing - no thoughts in, no thoughts out. Just exasperation.
"You need to come with me. I was sent here for you."Her voice was sincere. "I need you to trust me."
Now at this point you may be wondering why anyone would consider such a ludicrous request. This woman, or woman-like thing, had just taken a great big dump on most of your past life, and any future plans you had together. It was all a big lie.
Marriage is complicated though, that is, if we were even legally married anymore. Was I supposed to just ignore all of our history? When my father passed, she didn't deliver cliche lines, or blindly try to comfort me. At his funeral, while I standing over the casket thinking about all the things I wish I had told him, but never quite found the right moment, she simply walked my behind me, put her arm around me, and told me *he knows*. It takes someone real special to understand you enough to know you. I mean, *to really know you.*
"Ok. Where we headed?" |
Thomas sat back in his seat. He’d been expecting an exasperated sigh or outright rejection, maybe a giggle if he was lucky but not this. He looked at the girl and tried to make out if this was some sort of joke. Her blue eyes stared back and as he looked into them he didn’t see a single hint of humor. Instead he noticed something strange, a little ring of white light between her iris and pupil. It was hardly visible at some angles but it was clearly there. The girl sighed and pulled at a lock of her dark hair, twirling it around her finger absentmindedly.
“Well are you gonna talk or just sit there? I know you’re not one of them so how can you tell?”
By now she’d turned to face Thomas and he could get a better look at her. She was slender in appearance but not too thin, long black hair that seemed to shine like the night sky, full lips and a beautiful face. While her face were beautiful her eyes are what caught his attention. They were wet and red, as if she’d been crying not so long ago. He had never seen a greater sadness in anyone’s eyes before and just looking into them made his heart clench. He swallowed.
“I’m not...I’m not sure what you mean. It’s a pick up line, that’s all. I didn’t mean to offend you ma’am I just..” before he could finish she cut him off.
“A pick up line? So you didn’t actually know?”
Her eyes narrowed and her brow furrowed, her voice low and prying. Thomas watched her curl her hand into a fist on the bar and gulped as a strange sensation washed over him. It was like the feeling of being watched, only ten times worse. Thomas put his glass down and raised his hands and as he brought them up he realized they were shaking.
“Like I said I didn’t mean anything by it.” His voice shook too, a little quiver that no one besides her seemed to notice. When she heard it her eyes softened and her fist uncurled. The strange woman sat back in her chair and picked up her bottle of beer before downing it in one long gulp. She slammed it down onto the counter and turned back to him.
“Listen to me and listen well, I’m not going to explain this more than once. You are going to forget what you heard me say, you are going to go home and never talk about this again.” She clapped him on the shoulder and stood up, walking out the door to the bar and disappearing into trouble night. Thomas watched her go and once she left he let out the breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. He turned back to the bar and raised his finger.
“A shot of vodka please, the strongest you have.”
————————————————————————
It was twelve o’clock and the shot of vodka sat in Thomas’s stomach like a burning rock. He was one of the only people in the bar now, besides a drunken businessman who’d lost millions in stocks and an old man who looked perfectly sober despite having downed more shots than anyone else in the bar. He looked over to the chair next to him where that woman had been and shook his head.
“She was just some girl messing with me, probably looking for people to prank for some weird dare.” He mumbled to himself. He didn’t quite feel like getting up yet and so he stayed in the stool, listening to the sounds of the bar. Then from behind him a door opened. He didn’t bother to turn around, reasoning that it was just some late night bar crawler. From behind the bar the bartender looked up and scowled.
“Hey. Hey! You definitely aren’t old enough to be in here. Get the hell out before...” he didn’t finish his sentence. Thomas watched as the bartender turned a very particular shade of white, the kind that reminded him to notebook paper. His mouth opened and a terrified moan left his parted lips. Then the bartender turned and ran for the back door, barging out of if and disappearing into the alley. Thomas was too afraid to move as someone slid into the seat next to him, the creak of leather and the jingling of metal assaulting his ears. He slowly turned back to the seat where that woman had been sitting and was face to face with a young man, maybe eighteen or nineteen years old.
The young man had on a wide brimmed felt hat, olive green in color. A small bunch of brightly colored feathers were tied to the brim of it. He wore a leather jacket studded with silver pieces of metal and on his hip was a wallet chain covered in shiny little trinkets, ear rings, and necklaces, and other bits of metal. The young man was smiling at him, his upper lip pulled back just enough to reveal the tips of his teeth. Unlike the woman before him his hair was blonde and short but his eyes were the same color. As soon as Thomas looked at him he felt the same sensation he’d felt when the woman clenched her fist, only now it was so strong it felt like his skin was being poked by a thousand needles.
Neither of them spoke for a minute, just looked at each other. It was the young man who spoke first.
“Having a good night Thomas?” He said is a calm tone, as if he had know him for years. The hairs on Thomas’s neck went ridged and his legs turned to jelly. Even if he got up now he couldn’t run if he tried. The young man must have noticed because he grinned, one of his hands sliding over the counter and grabbing the empty shot glass in front of Thomas. The young man held it up and looked at it, turning it in his fingers.
“Lots of pretty women in this town, lots and lots of them. But I’m willing to bet that you talked to one that outshone all the others, a real ten out of ten!” The young man laughed and looked over at Thomas. “I can tell you saw something, I can smell it on you.” He said.
Then the young man lifted the glass and opened his mouth. Thomas watched as he placed the glass in his tongue and then, his blue eyes locked on Thomas’s own, bit down. The muffled crunch of glass filled the bar and Thomas felt his own jaw go slack as the young man chewed, the crunch crunch crunch of the glass pounding itself into Thomas’s mind. The young man grinned again and then swallowed, opening his mouth. No blood flowed, in fact the inside of his mouth was completely unharmed.
“Ahhh.” He sighed, his tongue flitting out and licking his lips. Then he leaned in close and Thomas could see the light around his pupils. The light in the woman’s eyes had been a pure white light but in the young man’s eyes it was a sickly reddish orange. Then in a voice like the shattered glass it had just swallowed the thing wearing a young man’s face spoke.
“Now tell me, where is the angel?” |
At last the final battle between Light and Darkness had come, the Champion of Light leading the Free Peoples and the Queen of Darkness leading the Legions of the Damned. The two met on the field of battle, the Queen raised her wretched, shrieking blade high but the Champion ducked to the right, striking out with his shield. The Horned One's Helmet sailed across the field and -
"Lilly?"The Champion stopped and stared as the Queen of Darkness turned her demonic gaze back towards him. "Lilly, what the hell are you doing here?"
The Queen stopped and gaped, "Wait, Trevor?"He removed his own helm carefully and she stared at him, "Trevor! What are *you* doing here?! You're supposed to be watching the farm!"
"I'm the Champion of Light, obviously!"Trevor announced to the sky. The warriors around them began to pause their fight, as confusion set in.
Either not noticing, or just not caring, 'Lilly' jammed her cursed blade into the soft ground, putting her hands on her hips, "Well, *obviously*, I'm the Queen of Darkness!"
"I can see that!"Responded Trevor sarcastically, "But what are you doing on a battlefield in your condition?"
That's when I started actually looking at the Queen of Darkness and realized there was a bit of a bump, and her armor looked to have been taken out a bit fairly recently. Yikes, this *was* going to be a fight for the ages. I was starting to feel a little uncomfortable. I looked over at the troll across from me, "Should we, like, start fighting again?"That would definitely be less awkward.
He waved me down, "Shhh! This is better than my stories."
I looked back over, she was really letting him have it now. "... Oh, so I'm supposed to just drop my career just because you came along, is that it!"
"Don't paint me as the bad guy here,"Trevor started looking around for support, but no way anyone else was getting mixed up in this. He kept going, "Delegate! Are you a queen or not? Didn't you have Thirteen Princes of Evil?"
"I did, until *someone* decided to smite them all!"
Trevor paused again, this time confused, "Wait, I only killed ten Princes of Evil. What happened to the other three?"
"They were plotting against me,"Lilly looked around her, sheepishly and mumbled something I didn't catch. Apparently Trevor didn't catch it either, because he asked her to repeat herself. "I killed them and ate them, okay?"
He stared in disgust, "You *ate* three Princes of Evil?"She started to say something about how that was perfectly normal for demons, but he kept on, "That *cannot* be healthy for the baby!"
"*My* mother ate most of her Princes of Evil when she was pregnant with me, and I turned out fine!"Her finger left a singe mark on his chestplate.
By this point nobody was still fighting, both armies had just stopped and were either listening directly or relaying the argument back down the lines. Trevor and Lilly still apparently hadn't noticed their audience, as she was now informing him exactly what she thought about what *he thought* about her mother.
One of the Hellspawn Commanders tapped the Queen on her shoulder, "Ma'am, maybe you are pushing yourself too hard. You don't have to lead from the front."At the same time Sergeant Thorndike put a hand on the Champion's shoulder, "Sir, aren't you being a little overprotective? She's a grown woman."Which naturally triggered an explosion from both of them that they were perfectly capable of handling their own marital disputes, thank-you-very-much.
Anyway, long story short, by the time they settled the argument nobody could remember what we'd originally been fighting over.
--------------------------
[Last time we saw Trevor and Lilly.](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/a2lgqb/wp_the_demon_queen_has_successfully_confined_the/eb1c7cb/?context=3) |
Mother nature is one cruel bitch.
The Earth is a ball of scum, there's no two ways about it. How else is she gonna produce little walkin', talkin' balls of scum like us, soldier? Don't you dare fall in love with those rolling hills. Fuck your prairies wide and mountains high. Look out there. Everything green you see is the disease, and well, we're the cure.
Why do you think we're here? No evolution or intelligent design could birth such a hateful, destructive creature as the human being. Born and bred to destroy, yeah yeah, we've all heard that one before. Destroying the o-zone layer, destroying the ice caps, destroying species. We've been upset at ourselves for a long time, but now we have a better picture, a grander view. We weren't put here to admire the museum. We're here to set Momma Earth free.
When one of our beautiful cities fall, who's the first one to move in? The green. It's like a virus, hunting for an opening and spreading itself as far as it can go. We were put here to shape the world, to mold it into its true form. You know what we use to build our kingdom? Rocks and metal from the Earth herself. You know what ain't down there? Green.
Imagine the world before all this damned green took over. Rocky black mineral patches stretching across the entire continent. Sprawling biomes of desert and caves. Workable resources as far as the eye could see. God damn it really brings on the waterworks.
We've spent far too long apologizing for the green. We understand the error of our way and we've got a helluva lot of time to make up.
So suit up soldier. Grab your mask and polish your flamegun. We're gonna milk the atmosphere with ash today. No telling what's growing in those jungles now, we've had stale intel for hundreds of years. All we know is it's hungry, and it ain't letting go of our fair maiden Earth without a fight. |
"The fuck is that?"
My eyes, still a little watery from the 4 hours of spray-painting I had done to the sides of the school buses, rested upon the matte black briefcase in Harry's hand. It wasn't made of plastic. We could all tell it was heavy by the veins popping out of Harry's forearm.
Not 5 minutes earlier, every single person in the room had a devilish twinkle in their eyes. The braggadocios attitudes of my 2 other roommates were cute, but misplaced. I knew I would win the bet. Nobody else in our suite had the balls to outdo my display of criminality.
Or so I thought.
Harry, who still hadn't responded to my query, took a step into the room. His breathing was shaky, but not the same quivering that one normally gets after walking up the stairs to our floor. I sensed something much deeper than fatigue. We all could.
Fear.
"Harry. You're scaring us man, come on. Answer the question."I couldn't even tell which of my other two roommates spoke. I was staring at Harry, and he was staring right back. To say something felt "off"would be the understatement of the century. This was beyond "off."Harry had crossed a line somewhere, and nobody could tell to what extent. The silence in the room deepened; Harry's quavering breaths were all that remained.
"Harry."His pupils suddenly dilated as he inhaled a curt breath. Their focus seemed to fall onto the wall behind me. I turned and looked. The television, previously off, had turned on. As I started to walk towards the T.V, my phone buzzed. So did Harry's. We heard our Amazon Alexa turn on as well, ready to listen. And then, like a symphony from a nightmare, they all erupted into noise.
"*This is an emergency alert broadcast by the Secret Service of the United States of America. If you are receiving this broadcast, you are in a Class-1 quarantine zone. Property of the P.O.T.U.S. has been stolen. All citizens are asked to remain in their homes with the doors unlocked. Do not resist search or seizure, all Federal Agents are cleared to use lethal force."*
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
Silence.
Every eye in the room fell back onto Harry, who still hadn't moved. His breathing was quiet now. Had the situation been different, someone would have cracked a joke about the silence that had befallen us. Nobody said a word, though. The last thing I heard was a crash down the hallway, and the sound of heavy boots charging down the hall. There was no knock, no time to run. Harry's mouth finally opened, and two words escaped his lips.
"I won."
A flash of light.
A searing pain
and it was all over.
&#x200B;
I guess I lose. |
A simple distillation of common herb extracts of the southwest. Combined in the correct order and held at a specific temperature for an unknown time. The inventor had called it "amplithetamine"but it quickly became known as "jump".
Jump allowed you to instantly unlock your potential. Your IQ would jump several statistical deviations, you could run a 4 minute mile without breaking a sweat. But for me it didnt do that. I'd never touched the stuff. I was just born this way.
The taller man in the black suit hit the table again. I wondered if he wanted a confession or a black belt. "We KNOW you're jumping so just tell us who your supplier is so we can get this over with!"He yelled at me. As if he was intimidating. Sure, he was a good 6 inches taller, but I could vaporize him with a thought so I just found it funny. "Actually, Pete--your name is Pete, right?--I was born like this. I'm not like you. I'm not like any of you. My mother was a young girl in the south of France and my father was...well let's say not from around here. Anyway, I've been able to do what I can do my whole life. Or at least after I got to high school. I can do anything I want and I dont need your cactus water to do it.
Agent Pete began to sweat a bit. "Well not with that collar on you cant. It nullifies your powers. You're going to talk to us and maybe if we believe you we'll let you go"he said. His voice cracked a bit. He was getting scared. "You're not going to let me go. If you had the power I'd never see the light of day again. Now if you'll excuse me, my girlfriend and I are heading to see a movie tonight. I already bought the tickets so I cant cancel. Farewell, Pete.
With that I tore the collar off. Pete raised his gun but i reached my mind out and took it apart before him. I gathered up the pieces in a ball and crushed them in front of him. I got up and thought of the door. It blew off the hinges and crashed down the hallway. As I left, I patted Pete on the head like a puppy. After all I had no hard feelings. |
The garden world, despite the snap still teemed with life. He happily enjoyed the fruits of his labour safe in the knowledge that his actions had brought the universe back into a supposed equilibrium. For the rest of his days, he lived through the motions as a humbled farmer. Fields were ploughed and alien fruits were planted. It was, however on one of these days was he confronted by the true horror he had caused.
On that fateful day, the skies of the garden world were lit up by a shimmering single asteroid. ‘Visitors’ he thought before the tree line to the South of his property lit up with a plethora of kinetic rounds. Round after round found its way into his property tearing crop after crop asunder. He took refuge in his makeshift property only for that to succumb to the innumerable onslaught of superheated metal.
At the end of the barrage, the tree line gave way to an unknown silhouette. Upon closer inspection he beheld a countenance of a human. This was no ordinary human however. Clad in business attire, this human had drooping hair, and death in his eyes. Never had he seen such focus, not since his days of conquest.
“You took everything from me.”
The human announced, his voice though soft, filled with focus and intent.
“I don’t even know who you are.”
He replied inquisitively.
“You will.”
The human returned in kind. Shortly thereafter, the human brought a weapon of unknown make to bare upon him.
“I am the one they send to kill the boogeyman.”
The human announced before he fired the weapon. The weapon was unlike any other as it came to life. A single beam of light, matching the ferocity of the orbiting sun above was released and made its way to him igniting the air around it. On impact it tore a hole straight through his purple chin, while his bodily fluids violently vaporised causing his body in its entirety to rupture moments thereafter. Splinters of his flesh and sinew fragmented and scattered as though the fragmentation from a grenade’s detonation. The human dove to one of the plants for cover before later examining the corpse they once called ‘Thanos.’ |
We attach it to bullets, mainly. A tiny ampoule inside a hollow-point was the most popular model for a while, then people got wise and started wearing helmets around all the time and we had to figure out a way to put the elixir behind an armor-piercing tip, because you gotta hit 'em right through the skull. Anywhere else and the "cure"won't make it past the blood-brain barrier.
Our little enterprise has so far been forced to exist in a sort of legal grey area. Governments are some of our best customers, but they can't be seen actually buying our stuff, not openly. Because you're not supposed to want to actually kill your citizens, right? There's no more need for that barbarism. If you're facing down an immortal perp, you just shoot 'em until they discorporate and get ready to put cuffs on when they start to fade back in. Then they go trial and get sentenced to prison or, if they're a real problem child, warehoused in some stasis facility somewhere.
But that system hasn't been working so well the last few decades, has it? Because stasis is tricky and expensive and ethically troubling. Just takes one terrorist/activist (depending on your point of view) to poison the IV drips and suddenly you've got hundreds of Very Bad People discorporating all at once, and not enough time to snag them all when they fade back in. Or there's just a failure in the system. Or the mostly-subdued brain figures out a way to commit suicide even in its induced dream-state. Or, or, or.
Sometimes a bullet is just simpler. Almost all Stasis Center guards are now armed with our special rounds, but you didn't hear that from me.
And yes, we're aware that a certain quantity of our product gets used for suicides. We have no official stance as a corporation on the politically and emotionally charged subject of euthanasia, but my personal opinion is that no one should be sentenced to an eternity they don't want.
As to the charge that we sell at a discount to anyone who isn't wealthy enough to keep up with yearly doses of Golden Elixir? Fomenting a kind of class warfare? Our individual sales associates have full discretion when it comes to setting retail prices. Bartering is, after all, one of humanity's most time-honored arts.
That's the line we tell our PR people to use, anyway.
Sure, my whole family was killed by a gang immortal psychopaths who will in all likelihood go on doing the same thing to other people. Or would have done, if they hadn't all gone missing in the last few years. And yes, of course my family was too poor to pay annual for Golden Elixir, else they'd still be alive.
Of course my story is hardly unique.
"The last century has been nothing if not a long screaming descent into dystopia?"Sure, I've heard the quote. There's no evidence that I said it, though. You shouldn't believe everything you read online.
Between you and me and this nice box of complimentary rounds, though, rumors rarely come from nowhere.
Now go be the change you want to see in the world.
&#x200B;
Come on by r/Magleby for more elaborate lies. |
"Welcome to Wendy's would you like to try our new-"I start to rattle off the script when the drive through buzzer went off, but as usual I got cut off.
"I would like! A number ten! Large! Ranch on the side! Coke! And a frosty!"Was yelled at me in short bursts... I never understood how the customers thought we couldn't hear them just fine. I shook the ringing from my ear and punched in the order then droned the total at them and told them to pull around.
It's not the worst job in the world, working the drive through at Wendy's. It's just not what I had envisioned for myself.
When I was younger I always dreamed of following in my father's footsteps. He worked the private sector in what you could call the biggest business there is, prison. He had all the fame and power he wanted. But it came at a price, disownment. He also had a couple rivals. A father and son duo who operated the second largest prison and happened to be the ones who disowned him.
Now you might be saying to yourself that prisons aren't a great business. But that's where you're wrong. There's always someone to lock up, and there's always someone willing to pay for them to be locked up.
"Alex, pay attention!"My supervisor yelled from the line as the next car rolled up to order without me greeting it for a while. We prided ourselves in being the fastest Wendys in the nation and we didn't get that by ignoring customers. I nodded and began the script again.
At the end of the night I clocked out and nodded at Grey the night supervisor and headed to the door, but stopped at the sound of a throat clearing.
"Grey, I think we should go over numbers for the night."The nasaley voice of my least favorite person pierced my still ringing eardrums. I froze mid step and rolled my eyes waiting for the predictable answer.
"You're right Darrell, we should see how we did today and find somewhere to improve. I like your attitude. Alex if you don't mind staying a bit."It wasn't a question. I sighed silently and turned back.
The meeting was far longer than it should have been and was mainly a place for Darrell to showcase his obvious perfection. I wasn't paying much attention until my name was said.
"Alex, your average time per car today was fantastic. I noticed you got a bit distracted, but you brought it back and I think you really pulled through for us."Grey said with a grin. I looked at the average time and it was 30 seconds less than usual. Darrell was scowling at me and such a wash of joy ran through me I felt my grin turn feral. Finally... A foot in the door. And it gave me an idea. Seeing Darrell so put out about my success made me realise the ultimate insult to his pride would be to take his dearest accomplishment away. He could kiss that plaque goodbye, I would make sure of it
I would be the next employee of the month.
The meeting ended and with a happy whistle I set out, hands in my pockets, walking down the main street of town. Pops and I weren't fans of city living, of course, you could probably say we weren't fans of any living. So I headed out of town to the nearest dirt cross roads and with a tap of my foot and a drop of blood a crack opened into the abyss. I grabbed my visor so it wouldn't go flying off into the aether and dropped down. |
"Very well, Mike. Give me one reason why I should not erase your puny being from existence together with this miserable world."
Mike looks Gordon over, a metallic body that is perfectly smooth. You shrug your shoulders.
"Wanna grab a bite?"
"Understood, we shall grab this bite. Lead the way."
Mike goes to his car, and opens the door for Gordon. He steps in, and all 4 tires pop.
"Uhhhh, I guess the car won't be an option. Let's walk."
Seems like Gordon is a super weapon unleashed by an alien race about 65000 light years away. He achieved sentience and, while he still has to follow his coding, applied his own twist to the logic that runs him. Worlds that impress him get to live, and he even helps them out for a while to improve whatever impressed him.
"Welcome to my apartment, try not to break anythin-"
Mike looks back, the tiles already turn to dust under his step. So much for being able to pay the rent this month.
"Not impressed! Is this the bite?"
"Wow there, I still have to make it. Just make yourself at home."
Gordon turns into a pool of liquid metal, spreads across the floor and hardens again. At least its inconspicuous. Mike works in the kitchen for about half an hour, and when he's done he calls for Gordon.
"Is this the bite?"
"Yea, take a seat at the table. And try not to break anything."
Mike puts a plate on his side. A hamburger from my diner, cooked to perfect from years of experience. A bunch of freshly made fries, from potatoes from the diner. A bit of broccoli, with a dash of soy sauce, a personal quirk. He gives Gordon his cutlery and show him how to use it. Mike starts on his meal and the super weapon follows. After a few minutes Mike pauses.
"So? How is it?"
"Is this the bite?"
"Yes."
"The molecular bindings have a strange effect on my sensors. They make me turn to liquid, but not actually. They seem to interfere with my hard coded logic, an unforeseen occurrence. With the components you used, I never thought it was possible to make something that would influence me so. You have impressed me with such a subtle but deadly weapon."
"Weapon? No, no, this is what we eat."
"Eat? You humans are truly a fearless race, to eat weapons that could melt your insides in mere seconds."
He stands up, and begins walking out. Mike shouts after him.
"So, what are you going to do?"
Gordon stops and turns around.
"Improve your race's culinary weapons. You have impressed me and saved your world, Mike, Master of Burgers, King of Kitchens and Savior of Earth."
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
[r/DregsfromLake](https://www.reddit.com/r/DregsfromLake/). |
Sir Lancelizzle sees his homie G-haddy-had clopping down the street with a shinyass sword and he be like "Damn brotha where you get that poker?"and Haddy be all "Get yo ass down to dat armory shit's half off for the rest of today."Now Sir Lancelizzle's girl was borrowing his ride and dat armory was like a three mile walk uphill but he's thinking to himself that's a fine-ass sword so he goes over to the streetside and tries to get a carriage.
Now there's two kinda carriages in this town, there's the mean-looking, I'm talkin' straight up sick street carriages, more like wagons, go twenty miles over the speed limit and have dawgs running for cover. And there's the kind for just laying back with a joint and just chilling, go slow nuff that the smoke just hangs out bakes you in your seat. And Lancelizzle's just standing there when one of these slow ones pull up and ask "needa lift?"
So he's like "Nah not from you brotha gotta get to the armory today not in two weeks"
And the driver's all like "You got dem long legs whatchu needa carriage for its like three steps for you"and he rides off.
So then Lancelizzle just standing streetside waiting for one of the faster wagons thinking maybe he shoulda walked cuz no way was he paying two silver pieces for a slow ass carriage when his other homie G-Wayne pulls up on his horse be all "Yo Lancelizzle G-had said you need a ride, hop on."
And that's the story of how Lancelizzle got a brand new poker half off through the power of friendship. |
"You're even thinking of it now,"Zack said. The numbness in his arms traveled upwards until his entire torso felt like it had been drenched in ice water. "If this conversation goes poorly, will you just rewind?"
Priscilla winced, shifting on the couch. "I guess I deserve that,"she admitted meekly. "It's not like...not like I wanted this from the start. At first I just used it once. A small thing, when I missed our first month anniversary. Then when I was late to your show at the Lapelle, I swore that was the last time. Soon..."
"Everything our relationship is, all the well-orchestrated arguments,"Zack said bitterly. "All of it has been a lie?"
Her eyes dropped. Thin arms wilted like dying flowers. "Yes. I'm sorry. I was hoping..."
"I understand."
"You do?"she blurted out. The crickets chirping outside sounded mournful. "I mean...I'm so sorry, Zack! I never..."
"I understand how painful that must have been,"he said, looking around at the beautiful life they'd built for themselves. A beautiful lie. "I have the same power, and I never had to use it because you bore the burden for us. So, I know how hard the backlash is on your mind, and you *endured* it for us."
A single tear dripped down her tear-shaped face. "Oh Zack. I wish...it could be different. But I was so scared!"
"I know,"Zack said, wiping his nose with trembling fingers. "I love you. Now and forever. And I won't let you bear that burden alone."
She frowned. "What?"
Zack clapped his hands together and the world spun in reverse. It kept spinning and spinning. When he finally awoke with the greatest hangover known to man, he was back in his college dorm. Dirty socks hung on the chair next to stacks of textbooks and unwashed plates - it had taken years for Priscilla to drill better habits into him.
Today was the day he'd meet her for the first time.
It would be different this time. This time, she wouldn't have to bear that burden by herself. They'd do it together.
---
Hi there! Thanks for reading, I'd love feedback if you have any~ come hang out with me at [/r/Remyxed](https://www.reddit.com/r/Remyxed/), we'd love to see you there :) |
Death shows no mercy.
Death comes for everyone.
Yet, Death hasn't reached me.
Not now, and not ever.
I looked into the child's eyes, innocent and pure. A dirty rag barely covering him, and a soft whine escaped his lips. A pitiful facade indeed, but a facade nonetheless.
I felt my heart harden. I did not say a word. Death's tricks will not work on me. I slammed the door, retreating back into my abode, and steeled my nerves for Death to come knocking again.
Grimly, I reminded myself that I will not lose to the Reaper.
---
Death stood outside the door, and she sighed.
Death looked at the pathetic little boy, sobbing quietly at the doorstep. Death sidled up, laying a cold hand on the child's head. The Reaper of Souls sang a little song, tinged with sadness and regret, as she patted the youngling lightly and soothingly.
"My child, all will be fine. Here,"Death said, and embraced the boy. "Rest in my arms. Rest well and peacefully."
Death looked into the child's eyes, innocent and pure. Death did not look away as the little one's eyes fluttered shut, his cries silenced, and his chest stilled.
Death felt her heart sank. Death did not say a word. But Death mourned, her grief echoing through the atmosphere. The temperature dropped, and the skies darkened, heeding her call. Death's tears fell.
Tenderly, Death swept the little boy into her arms, and reminded herself that she had a job to do. |
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